Silver Smoke
by Alexa S. Blaze
Summary: Steve was from the past. She was supposed to be his future. But when Samantha, an aspiring heroine and young Avenger, messes up on a mission, she chooses to drop everything and leave so that she can LIVE in the past - in Rome. She has to abandon her Avengers family, her superhero title... and most importantly, her new relationship with Steve Rogers. STEVExOC Sequel to Silver Ashes!
1. Singing, Laughing, Learning

**Author's Note: Hello, wonderful readers, and welcome to the sequel of _Silver Ashes_! If you haven't read that, I strongly uggest you do, because half of this probably won't make sense without it. Seriously. It's short enough (it's bascially just a prequel to this story), but lots of stuff is explained and shit happens. **

**Anyway, here we are! This story is post-Avengers-movie, so it'll all be my original work. And there will actually be some real Steve/Samantha stuff in here :D I'm quite excited. **

**New characters, new villains, new plot lines. It'll all happen. I sincerely hope you read, enjoy, and review! Please leave a comment, telling me what you think of this story - or just letting me know you're reading it. I'd love it if all you did was drop me a line, saying "I read Silver Ashes and now I'm here to check out the sequel!"**

**Let me know in a review if you know who Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne are ;) They'll become important, later in the story. I don't own the Avengers or anything related - just Sam, my OC. **

**READERS ASSEMBLE!**

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Sam Silverman's POV

_Life was not to be sitting in hot amorphic leisure in my backyard idly writing or not writing, as the spirit moved me. It was, instead, running madly, in a crowded schedule, in a squirrel cage of busy people. Working, living, dancing, dreaming, talking, kissing — singing, laughing, learning._

― _Sylvia Plath_

It's a weird thing, starting a new journal. It's almost like beginning the entire adventure anew. I can run my fingers through the fresh, clean pages of this book, and I can marvel at the crisp, clean smell. But I can't predict what things will come to light in these pages, even though I know the ending.

This is the second _Avengers_ journal to pass through my hands. The first one was written by me, Steve Rogers (Captain America) and the lovely Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man. We illustrated our war against Loki with words, recounting every moment as truthfully as we could. Nothing was left out — not a single thought, not a single emotion. Even the things we wanted to keep hidden forever, the things we were ashamed or embarrassed of, were written in the pages of that journal.

That's why now, I have no idea to expect. It's a new book, depicting a new story; a new journey. Our second adventure. And I'm thinking that this time, maybe the rest of the Avengers might want to have some sort of say in the way we write this down.

The name's Samantha Silverman, but people call me Sam. You probably haven't heard of me, but I bet you've heard of Masquerade, the Avenger. You know, the blonde girl with the Venetian masquerade mask and purple-and-black suit? The one who fought against Loki? The new kid to join the Avengers? Yeah, that's Masquerade. I mean — that's me.

My origins are long and complicated. _Okay_, that's a lie. Basically my dad went a little crazy, tried to replicate Captain America's super soldier serum, failed, but injected me with his concoction anyway. I gained control over the four elements: earth, wind, fire and air. Although, I guess "control" isn't the best word for it. I had no control whatsoever. Because of that, Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D basically kidnapped me to get me away from the general population. I was a threat; I'm still a threat, although my control is better.

Point is, Fury forced me to join the Avengers. And so here I am, recording our excursions and battles in a tiny brown leather journal.

I like this recording stuff. It makes me feel a bit less insane. As if someone's actually reading this, wanting to know what _really_ goes on behind the scenes of Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

A lot of stuff has happened since now and the time this story starts. People have changed; lives have been drastically altered. And yet here I am, ready to record every gruesome tale. It's important that the truth gets written down, before someone messes with it and warps our words.

I'm not quite sure where to start. Technically, nothing important happened until that fateful day in July. But the story starts a few months before that, right after our battle in Manhattan with Loki.

I was only 17 back then — I still went to high school and lived with my mom and brother. I had friends, and tests to study for. Being Masquerade wasn't a full-time job for me. Actually, it wasn't even a part-time job. There were no threats; I didn't need to be a costumed super-heroine.

That didn't mean I couldn't keep in contact with my fellow Avengers, though — Tony and Steve especially. I had grown close to both of them; they were like my adopted family. Ever since my dad injected me with that serum, I had been seriously missing a fatherly influence in my life. Mom kicked him out of the home, and when the government found out what he did to me, they put a restraining order on him.

Tony stepped in and took over the position of "dad", although he was a terrible one. And he didn't exactly "step in", either – not literally. Like, he wasn't living in my home, helping Mom cook dinner. But Tony and I are two very similar people, so he made sure we kept in touch. We exchanged emails every day and even had a few video chats, like tween girls. Sometimes I'd skip Friday at school to hop on a train down to Manhattan; I'd spend Saturday with Tony in the city; and then I'd ride home on Sunday. It took a full day to ride from Chicago to New York City, where both Steve and Tony lived, but it was worth it.

It was harder for me to keep in touch with Steve. We had grown closer than Tony and I; Steve had been the hero that was there for me when I was breaking down, back during the fight with Loki. He was like a brother, and I honestly felt really safe around him. It's a weird thing to admit, but it's true.

Since Steve was from the forties, he hadn't yet figured out how to use a computer. Thus, we couldn't exchange emails. Instead, Steve would come down to Chicago by train and stay at a nearby hotel; I'd spend my after-school hours with him, walking around the city and talking. It was a lot more personal than what I was doing with Tony, and slowly, the awkward silences between Steve and I began to disappear as our conversations became easier. I legitimately began to enjoy the time I spent with Steve; I would look forward to his visits to town.

It was my eighteenth birthday, I think, when _both_ Steve and Tony visited Chicago. Clint Barton (known as Hawkeye to the public) tagged along too. I hadn't really gotten to know many of the Avengers during my brief stay with them (Natasha Romanoff, also known as Black Widow, was just too . . . distant; Thor was _literally_ too distant, being on another planet and all; and in all honesty Doctor Bruce Banner scared the crap out of me), but Clint and I had our moments. He liked tea. I liked tea. We went on tea dates every now and then. And that was the extent of our relationship.

Anyway, the three guys all decided to come down to Chicago on my birthday. Brilliant, I know. It had been on June 13th, a Wednesday, and I had school. But after a lot of (not very nice) persuading from Tony, I agreed to skip school to go out on the town with them.

Naturally, the first thing we did was make a stop at a tea shop. Clint and I both got "organic cream of earl grey", while Tony went around asking for whichever tea had the most caffeine in it. While Clint was trying to help him, Steve pulled me aside.

"I, uh, got you a birthday present," he said awkward, scratching the back of his neck. I had noticed that it was a habit of his, to scratch the back of his neck whenever he was nervous.

"Really?"

"Here," Steve shoved a bundle into my hands hurriedly, as if ashamed to be handing me something. I opened up a brown bag to reveal a small 12-inch stuffy; it was a golden-yellow color with four legs and a very droopy tail.

"Oh my god," I gasped, my jaw practically hitting the floor. "This is . . . this is _Simba_. From _The Lion King_."

"Uh, yeah," Steve shifted his weight from foot to foot.

"It's so cute!" I squealed, bouncing up and down. Back during the Loki war, I had monologued to Steve about _The Lion King_, comparing my life to the classic Disney movie. Apparently, he had listened enough to go out and buy me an actual stuffy.

"Thank you thank you thank you," I threw my arms are the man, hugging him. He reluctantly returned the hug, muttering out a "glad you like it".

I pulled back, stuffing the stuffy (excuse the pun) back in the bag and beaming up at Steve. "I was also wondering," he scratched the back of his neck again, "if you maybe wanted to come stay at my place for a week or something in the summer? Like, with me? A vacation?" he said it as if it was a question.

I laughed at his awkwardness. "Well, you always come here. It's probably time I check out your apartment in Brooklyn." He nodded. "And I really would like to get out of this city during the summer. So sure. I'd love to."

"Love to what?" Tony suddenly asked, appearing behind Steve.

And thus, their rivalry continued.

Of course after hearing I was going to stay at Steve's for a week, Tony had insisted I stay at his place for _two_ weeks. To balance things out, I had struck a deal with the two men — I would spend one week at Steve's, two at Tony's, and then one more at Steve's. I was spending my entire month of July away from home, in New York City.

The week with Steve had gone wonderfully. S.H.I.E.L.D had gotten him an apartment in Brooklyn, and I had found boxes and boxes of gadgets and technology, shoved in the back corner of his closet. I spent the first two days at his place setting up the flat-screen television and PlayStation3 (he wasn't quite yet ready for a computer). Although I had taught Steve the basics of the television and the remote, we hadn't even attempted the PS3 yet.

It wasn't hard for him, though. He may have been from the forties, but he was a twenty-one-year-old with the kind of brain these electronics were geared towards. Once he had wrapped his mind around the _idea _of a TV and the remote, the rest had been easy.

We spent our days in the apartment, cooking random meals and hanging out. Steve and I talked and laughed about everything and nothing; it was a nice feeling. And since I was a history geek, he could tell me as many stories about the past as he wanted and I would never get bored.

We watched _The Lion King_ on the third night, curled up together on the love seat with a blanket, a store-bought bag of popcorn (I hadn't set up the microwave yet), my Simba stuffy, and more pillows than I could count. Since that night, I had caught him re-watching the Disney movie — three times.

The next two weeks had been spent at Tony's. They had been different, to say the least. We had similar personalities and they clashed completely. I don't think I've ever fought with someone so much as I did with Tony, and yet, still enjoy his company.

The first week, we had gone for a drive down the coast with Pepper. I didn't really get along with her very well, but she was a nice enough person. The drive had been a real eye-opener (and no, I'm not _just _talking about the time we got lost in Florida and almost drove into a swamp). I got to drive half the time, which was fun.

The next week was spent back in Stark Tower, just enjoying the busy city of New York. Clint dropped by every day, and our tea-runs and four-in-the-morning chats came to be the usual. Natasha even made an appearance once, although I didn't get to talk to her.

This, my dear friends, is what the Avengers did in their spare time.

It was a Sunday, I think, when I had packed up to leave for Steve's again. I was actually pretty excited to get back there; I had promised to teach him how to use the PS3 this week. Besides, I missed our long talks.

Tony, though, had a surprise for me first.

"It's your belated birthday present," he said proudly, leading me downstairs to the garage of Stark Tower. We stepped into the large basement as he flicked on a light, revealing my gift.

"Oh my God, Tony. You didn't."

"I did!"

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Honesty, you shouldn't have."

"Aw, c'mon, Sam. It's just a late birthday present."

"No, really. You _shouldn't have_."

"Oh, no need to thank me."

My jaw was on the floor ad my eyes were practically falling out of my head as I gazed at my gift.

It was a car. But that wasn't it — it was a _neon green_ car.

In short, it was hideous and conspicuous and I hated it.

"This car," Tony said, "is a Bugatti Veyron Super Sport. Its maximum speed is 267 mph, and it can go from 0-60 mph in 2.4 seconds. It's the fastest car in the world."

"Tony, I'm freaking 18 years old. I do not need a car that goes this fast. Period."

"Aw, c'mon. You're Masquerade. After that stunt you pulled with the gas tanker," he referred to the time I drove a petrol truck down a street to blow up some aliens, "I decided you should be the designated driver for the Avengers."

I rolled my eyes. "You're not actually telling me you bought this hideous green thing for _me_," I grumbled.

"Wait, what?" he shook his head, looking surprised. "Of course not!" he snapped. "It's for Pepper."

I breathed a sigh of relief, just as Tony grabbed my wrist and dragged me around to the other side of the car. "_This_ one's for you."

It was the exact same car model, except even worse — _hot pink_.

"ARGHHHH," I turned and banged my head against the roof of Pepper's new car. "Tony, return this ugly piece of crap as soon as you can. I DON'T WANT IT."

"Way to put it nicely," he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Seriously, go spend the money on something useful. Like orphans, or something. I don't need this car," I turned on my heel and headed back to the doorway, where I had dropped my duffle bag full of stuff. "Thanks and all, but I'm okay. Really."

Tony stuck his tongue out at me as I lugged my stuff over to my _actual_ car, a crappy little silver Ford Focus parked in the back of the garage. I was just chucking my stuff in the back when JARVIS's polite voice crackled to life over the loudspeaker in the ceiling.

"Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne have arrived to see you, Mr. Stark. Pepper has directed them downstairs."

"You sure you have to go back to Uncle Sam's?" Tony whined, ignoring JARVIS. "He's as interesting as a pile of dust. All he talks about is his life as a soldier."

I sighed, opening the driver-side car door and leaning against it. "Tony. We've gone over this. I like history. He _is_ history. You should give him a chance; he's a nice guy, once you stop acting like such an ass around him."

"Screw history. You should study science in university. I'm a science guy, you know, and I'm doing way better in life than Rogers is."

I glared. "You weren't dragged out of your time and dropped here."

"My time _is_ here."

"Smart-ass," I grinned crookedly. "And you know I'm hopeless with science. Besides, I'm not studying _either_ in university — I'm going to be an English major."

"All the way on the other side of the country."

"Hey, it's not my fault that the university with the courses I was looking for is in Washington State!"

I heard footsteps on the stairs leading to the garage, and cocked my head to the side. "Who're Hank and Janet?" I asked, as Tony ran a hand through his hair.

"Hank Pym and his wife Janet are friends of mine," Tony shrugged.

"You have friends?"

"Ha, ha," he narrowed his eyes at me. "I invited them here today to have a few drinks, maybe do some fun _science-y_ stuff. Hank Pym has a mind rivaled only by mine, Bruce Banner's, and Reed Richards'. So while you and Cap sit around collecting dust and talking about the past, Hank and I will be using science to better the future."

I had the urge to bang my head against my car again. "Who's Reed Richards?" I asked instead.

"Ever heard of the Fantastic Four?"

Our conversation was interrupted by two people, walking into the garage. The man — Hank Pym, I assumed — had a mop of blonde hair on his head, and a strong jaw. Janet Van Dyne was a short, petit woman with black hair in a pixie cut. They smiled and said hello to Tony enthusiastically, nodding to me politely.

"I'm Samantha Silverman," I introduced myself, and the couple responded with their own names, reaching forward to shake my hand. "I'm practically Tony's daughter," I couldn't help but add, snickering.

"Hardly. You don't like science," he shot back.

"Oh, drop it, will you?" I said, but I was laughing as I said a quick goodbye to everyone. "I'll see you later, okay, Tony? Let's keep doing the pen pal-email thing."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved me away, instead turning towards his new entertainment. I shook my head, smiling as I got behind the wheel of my car and backing out of the garage.

And just by leaving Tony's house, I managed to kick-start the entire adventure. I revved my engine, speeding away down the street towards Brooklyn. I had no idea what I was getting in to.

. . . And neither did Hank or Janet.

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**A/N: Anyway, thanks for reading my beginning! It's not the greatest; it's basically set-up. But please leave a review, and as always, AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Alexa Blaze**


	2. Just Go

Steve Rogers' POV

_Anyway, it doesn't matter how much, how often, or how closely you keep an eye on things because you can't control it. Sometimes things and people just go. Just like that._

― _Cecelia Ahern_

Well, um, hello.

The name's Steven Rogers, or Captain America. Either's fine. It looks like I have the journal now. Huh. I'm not, well, I'm not exactly an author. I'm a soldier. So please excuse me if this sucks. I know my opening is terrible.

As Sam said in the intro, a lot of people changed during this story. And I know that without a doubt, I'm one of them.

So let's start, shall we?

I was back at my apartment in Brooklyn, I think, on that Sunday. The television was on, but I wasn't watching it. In truth, it frightened me a little, but I was eagerly awaiting Sam and the sound of the news helped pass the time as I tried to figure out the microwave on my own. Sam had set it up on her last day here two weeks ago, but she hadn't taught me how to use it. Wouldn't it be great for her to come back and find I had it all under control?

I missed having Sam around; if not because I enjoyed her company, then because I didn't feel so alone with her nearby. Everyone I knew and loved was dead, and Sam was the first person to actually try and make contact with me. I missed knowing that she was sleeping in my bed while I camped out on the couch, the perfect gentleman; I missed her burnt scrambled eggs and her rages about the clutter in my room. I missed having another person around — someone who would talk to me.

I could still remember the past three months clearly, from Loki's attack to now. Sam and I had spent many days exploring Chicago as she attempted to explain the modern world to me, and we really had become friends. Practically siblings.

That thought made me pause, as I remembered a day in June where I had potentially felt something, well, something different.

Samantha was in the orchestra at her high school; she played saxophone in both the concert and jazz bands. On one of my trips to Chicago, she had complained to me about how her mom and brother never supported her in her music. I had later let it slip to Tony, and of course he had decided to play the "father" card, just like he was always eager to do.

Tony, Clint, Agent Romanoff and I took the train down to Chicago the day before Sam's year-end band concert. Don't ask me why Natasha came along — she just happened to be at Stark Tower when we were leaving, and had decided to come along.

Pepper came, too. She was a sweet woman, and we got along very well, much to Tony's displeasure. It was amusing to see him freak out over the fact that Pepper and I had quickly become friends.

Even though we were a large group of 5 highly intellectual individuals (don't tell Tony I said that), not a single one of us remembered to tell Sam we were coming to her concert. So when she first saw us there, her reaction had been quite . . . comical.

Tony had insisted we arrive early. He just wanted a good seat, I think. But it had still caused quite the scene when Tony Stark, of all people, showed up at an average high school band concert. The rest of us had no problem blending into the crowd, but Tony . . . well, he was stopped for so many pictures and "hellos" and autographs that it was a good thing we had arrived early.

Somehow, we managed to get seats in the fifth row, right in the centre. Pepper sat on the far right, beside Tony, who was beside me. Tasha and Clint took the two remaining seats to my left, so that I was sandwiched right in the middle of the whole row.

Sam wasn't on until after the intermission, and I'm ashamed to say that Tony fell asleep during the first half. He snored, too. Pepper was quite cross with him about that — and the fact that he drooled on my shoulder — but didn't say anything. We just let him sleep during the intermission, as we went out to get some coffee (or in Clint's case, tea) from the school café.

It took a lot of prodding to get Tony awake, but once he realized Sam was onstage, he sat right up, eyes wide. Her grade twelve concert band played fantastically, but not as good as her jazz band. There were two saxophone solos, but Sam got neither of them — she was just another average player in the band. And yet, I was proud of that.

She saw us sitting there about halfway through her second song. I guess it would've been a bit hard to miss us, considering we were three very muscular men and two stunning women sitting right in the middle of the theatre. When Sam noticed us, her saxophone let out an unattractive _SQUAWK_ and she paled. Tony, of course, started laughing.

After the concert, we loitered in the lobby, hoping she'd come out. Pepper had already made friends with the band conductors and half the parents, Clint was off sneaking more tea, and Nat was explaining to me the best tactics on how to invade a school. Tony, of course, was dealing with the hoards of high-school fan students. I'm still not entirely sure why we thought it'd be a good idea to bring him.

I saw Sam then, coming in from the backdoor. There was a boy with her, and I recognized him as the guy who got the guitar solo in her concert band. He had his arm wrapped around her waist, and she was laughing at something he had just said.

I'm not going to deny it — I was jealous of this guy. I didn't know who he was, but obviously he was making Sam pretty happy, and I wished it could be me.

There. I said it.

Those thoughts were quickly forgotten, though, and I actually haven't thought about it since then. Sam literally took one look around, saw me, and then ran over to where I was standing with Nat still talking my ear off.

"Steve!" she cried, a surprised grin on her face as she hugged me. "And — Tasha!"

The girls exchanged nods as I slid my own arm around Sam's waist, shooting the mysterious boy a look as I hugged Sam to my side. "Great concert," I said, my cheeks red. "You did really well."

I have something else to admit — I was acting really awkward. I wasn't comfortable with slinging an arm around Sam so casually, but this was my way of fighting the jealousy. So what if I was blushing the whole time?

"Thanks," Samantha smiled shyly. "I didn't know you guys were coming! How come you never told me?"

"We never got around to it," Nat shrugged, and then looked at Mystery Boy, who was lurking behind Sam. Nat raised her eyebrows at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sam took the hint, and leaned back to see her friend. "Guys, this is Mark," she said, "and Mark, this is Steven Rogers and Natasha Romanoff."

"_Steve_ Rogers," I said, at the same time as Nat chimed in with an "_Agent_ Romanoff."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Mark said, looking as if it was anything but a pleasure.

"Mark's my, uh, ex-boyfriend," Sam shifted her weight on her feet, looking at the ground awkwardly. I remembered her telling me about him now — he was the guy she had gone out with for, like, 3 years or something, but they broke up right around the time Sam got her powers. He had been the one stopping her from getting hurt when she, well, when she burned down a school.

Clint appeared then, and they exchanged a few polite comments about the school café's tea. Seriously, I still don't get their obsession with the stuff.

Tony finally appeared, and Samantha's reaction to seeing him was much the same as when she saw me: she said his name really loudly and happily, running up and giving him a big hug. She was introduced to Pepper, too, as the Mark kid slunk away.

Since then, I'd never felt anything like that again. It was a weird, uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling; I was just glad I didn't feel it anymore. Above all, the jealousy had confused me. Why had I gotten so upset, exactly? Was it because I wished I was the one who could be in class with her, making her laugh? Was it because I didn't trust the guy with her? Or was it because of something else entirely?

I shook my head, bringing myself back into reality. Checking the wall clock, I gave up on trying to figure out the microwave. _2:00_, the clock read. I frowned, not believing it; checking the clock in my bedroom, it said the same thing. Sam had called at 12 to tell me she was leaving Tony's, and it usually took a half an hour to get from Stark Tower to my apartment. That meant she should've been here an hour and a half ago.

Unfortunately, the best way to contact her would be by phone. I didn't have a real telephone (I had ripped it out of the wall a few months ago before the battle with Loki, when I was feeling low), but I had a cell phone that Sam had equipped me with. So far, I had only used it to receive her one call about leaving Tony's.

I picked it up now. It was called an "eye-phone", apparently, with a "touch screen" and "apps". I had just stuck to figuring out the basic "call" button. Once I slid the "unlock" bar on the phone, my call history list popped up. I clicked Sam's name (which she had entered as "Samantha Silverman, your favorite supermegafoxyawesomehot mofo". I didn't know what mofo meant, and quite frankly, I was afraid to ask). It dialed her number, but then went straight to voicemail.

That was when I knew something was wrong. Sam's phone was always at her side — she always picked it up, and never turned it off. As she told me, she was a typical modern young adult.

I tried her again, but with the same results. I glanced at the television briefly as a "breaking news" story flashed up about something in Manhattan, but I ignored it, instead dialing Tony's number (which had been written on the wall — in sharpie — by none other than Anthony Stark himself. Don't ask me why, because I honestly have no clue).

He picked up on the third ring. "Who's this?" he asked crossly, not even bothering to say hello.

"Hello?" I asked, holding the tiny, flat back phone up to my ear. "Hello? Tony? Tony? Tony, are you there? It's Steve. Hello? Am I speaking into the right end of this thing? Hello?"

There was the sound of hysterical laughter on the other end, and I figured out which part to put to my ear and which part to point towards my mouth. I got it just in time to hear Tony say "—make it quick. I have guests."

"Do you know where Sam is?" I asked bluntly.

"She's with you, isn't she? She left two hours ago."

"No, she's not here."

"You're sure you haven't lost your hearing from old age, and she's not banging on the door?"

"Are you sure she left your place 2 hours ago?" I shot back.

"Why don't you just call her on her cell?" Tony asked. "You know, since you're a genius with phones and all."

"Stark, I think something's wrong. I think something's happened," I frowned, sitting down on the couch and glaring at the television. The blonde news lady on-screen was panicking about something, but I tuned her out.

"Look, Sherlock Holmes, I'm sure everything's fine. Ever heard of traffic?" I could practically hear Tony rolling his eyes.

Just then, a frantic voice sounded in the background. "Hank!" a woman was saying. "Come look at this! Tony, look at the news!"

"I gotta go, okay, grandpa?" Tony said, but I was hardly listening anymore. Finally, I was concentrating on the television.

"Our sources state that about an hour ago," the bodacious blonde new speaker was saying, "a few dozen people started disappearing into thin air. By now, the count has risen to fifty civilians gone, straight from their cars and the sidewalk. Eyewitnesses claim to have seen a tall, foreboding man dressed in yellow and green appear before the victims before the man and the civilian disappeared.

"Expect large traffic stalls, please, as the police force tries to find the missing civilians and clear the road of the abandoned cars. From what we're seeing, what has happened here is not natural — perhaps, the war criminal Loki has returned? He wore green and yellow. His attack on Manhattan three months ago . . ." she went on, talking about the Chitauri and the Avengers.

"What kind of car does Sam drive?" I asked quietly into the phone.

"A silver Ford Focus," Tony responded without delay. "Are you watching the news, Rogers?"

I nodded, and then realized he couldn't see me. "Uh — yeah." In the corner of the screenshot was a silver Ford car.

"You don't think . . ."

"That Loki really has returned?"

"Thor would be back then, wouldn't he?"

"I don't think it's Loki . . ." a female voice said in the background on Tony's end.

"Hush, Janet," an unfamiliar male voice chided.

Just then, the television screen blinked black. I figured I had sat on the remote or something — it wouldn't be the first time — but then it crackled to life again.

This time it no longer showed a newsroom, but a close-up of a nose and moustache.

The face moved away from the screen — far enough away so that we could see the person's entire upper body. "Hello, New York City," a deep, heavily accented voice said. I stared in shock at the man on screen. He was indeed wearing green and yellow, but it certainly wasn't Loki — his outfit was more of an oriental robe. This man had straight, long black hair (as in, longer and straighter than Thor's – more like Pepper's, actually) and an oriental moustache. He was Chinese, I could tell, with dark eyes and a crude face.

"And hello Avengers," a cracked smile forced on his chapped lips. The words sent shivers down my spine as he stared straight into the camera lens, almost as if he could see through the screen right at me.

"Captain America," he spat, "Iron Man, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Masquerade, I know you're all watching this. Or . . . are you?" his grin slid off his face. "Do you know the whereabouts of your teammate, Masquerade?" he said ominously — I heard something shatter on Tony's end of the phone, which was still pressed to my ear.

"You know, everything was going according to my plan," the man started to pace the room, "until she appeared and tried to burn me." It was only then that I realized an entire half of his robe was scorched slightly. "But I took care of her," the sinister grin was back. "It wasn't hard to figure out she was Masquerade. The tattoo was a giveaway."

I thought of Sam, with the tiny tattoo on the inside of her wrist. It was a simple word, written in cursive. But this man was right: that word was a giveaway. It was what had originally inspired her superhero name — Masquerade.

"She's not dead. Yet," the man on the screen said in a slimy voice. "Neither are my other _forty-nine_ hostages," he made sure to emphasize the number, sticking his face in close to the camera lens. "But unless my demands are met, one hostage will die _every half hour_. It is 2:10 now. You have twenty minutes until the first one goes. And who knows? Maybe it'll be your precious Avenger," he grinned at the camera again, showcasing disgusting teeth.

"My demands have already been mailed to Tony Stark. Good luck, Avengers. You'll need it," he winked.

"Oh, and before the Daily Bugle comes up with some stupid name for me, I already have one. _The Mandarin."_

The picture blinked off the screen again, and this time I was left with grey, white and black static. I didn't even bother to turn it off as I ran into my room, grabbing my Captain America uniform and my vibranium shield.

"I'm on my way," I said into the eye-phone, before hanging up. I was a tad horrified to find that I had partially crushed while watching the broadcast, but decided that I definitely had bigger problems.

Whoever this Mandarin guy was . . . he seemed to be the Avengers' newest threat.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone :)**

**Welcome to the second chapter - and yes, the action is already starting! Basically, this is what sets everything in motion. I hope you enjoyed the chapter - please review and tell me what you think! Oh, and I don't own anything except my OC, Sam :P**

**The feedback on the first chapter of this story was _astouding. _I'm seriously blown away. Thank you guys for all your kind words in the reviews, and all the alerts and favorites! You mean so much to me, and I'm glad so many of you are reading. I really do appreciate all your support - it keeps me going in my writing, and it inspires me :P**

**Extra special thanks to all my wonderful reviewers - your feedback was amazing, and I couldn't have asked for better fans: _Comiccrazygothgirl, clarinetgirl628, Wolf Eared Girl, brandibuckeye, ClarinetRox88, Little Weasley Girl, WhatTheF-HaveUDoneLately, Peter Flan, HannajimaShields, Invader Ivy, TA-twinArmageddons, A Contradiction, TheGirlThatIsBorderLineCrazy, GoForTehGig, EmiStone, Ant-Carrying-A-Rubber-Tree _and _Lane Fields_! Your words mean the world to me.**

**Please read, enjoy and review this chapter; tell me what you think, and if you know who this "Mandarin" guy is! Like usual . . . **

**READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Lexi Blaze**


	3. Hostage

Natasha Romanoff's POV

_It's hard being a hostage in somebody else's mouth - or a character in somebody else's novel._

_- David Antin_

Okay, before I start this off, let's get a few things straight.

One, my name is Natasha Romanoff, but you may call me _Agent_ Romanoff. Two, I am a freelance spy who works for S.H.I.E.L.D and is proud to be an active member of the Avengers. Three, I will not be telling you anything else about myself. Four, I am not used to journal writing whatsoever.

Samantha Silverman decided to be an idiot: she _insisted_ that I write a journal entry. "Tony, Steve and I did all the writing last time," she had whined, shoving the book at me. "Why don't you try your hand at it?"

Needless to say, I was not pleased. I have better things to do with my time than write in some stupid book. But I respect Sam enough to not turn her down, and so now I'm stick writing an entry.

I don't really know how to go around doing this, but I guess it's simple enough. I've been told to write my thoughts and emotions for part of the mission, and include details and dialogue. _Fun_. I guess I'll just use one of the previous journal entries as an example.

So, where to start? I can't exactly pick up where Rogers left off, since I'm not Rogers. I was actually on the (recently fixed) S.H.I.E.L.D Helicarrier during the events of the past two entries, working on a new case. Something about "Pym Particles". Anyway, there was a big commotion on the bridge, and I headed out to see what was going on.

Fury strode up to me, a frown on his face. "You're an active Avenger, are you not, Agent Romanoff?" he asked, and I nodded. "Then I suggest you take the Quinjet and head down towards Stark Tower. Bring Agent Barton."

"Why?"

"There's been a . . . call to arms." He showed me a computer screen, where a message from Tony Stark was displayed. The only thing it said was "Avengers Assemble."

I'll spare you the boring details of tracking down Barton and getting on the Quinjet. During the past two months, we had both become experienced with the plane, and flying it now came easily. Stark had built a Quinjet landing pad on the top of Stark Tower. It may as well have been called Avengers Tower — we used it as a base of communication, and during renovations Tony had upgraded it so that it suited all our needs.

Barton and I didn't talk much as we exited the Quinjet quickly. We were both people of few words. Well, around each other, at least. If you put Barton near some of his friends, he wouldn't shut up.

I flashed my identification card at a sensor, and the outside door to the penthouse slid open. Each Avenger had a personalized ID card, to signify that we were active members of the group. I found it a bit useless, though — there weren't exactly any _inactive _members. Well, technically Doctor Banner could count. He was in Calcutta again; extremely removed from NYC. And Thor was pretty far away, too.

"Give me the details, Tony," I said without preamble, walking into the living room where the man was sitting on the couch. Two other people were sitting beside him; a couple I didn't recognize. Barton walked in and stood behind Tony, still unsure as to what was going on.

Stark scowled at me. "Well, it's nice to see you, too."

"Why'd you call for the Av–" I stopped talking, staring pointedly at the two strangers.

"Hank and Janet, meet Natasha and Clint," Tony sighed, grabbed his empty drink glass and heading towards the kitchen. "You all have one minute to get acquainted while I grab more vodka. Go."

I crossed my arms over my chest, standing with my legs apart. "I hope this doesn't come off as rude, but you'll have to excuse us. I need to talk to Mr. Stark and Agent Barton without extra ears around."

Stark, who was obviously listening in, yelled from the kitchen. "They're not children, Natasha. They realize that you're Black Widow, and Clint's Hawkeye. You two don't exactly wear masks, and your pictures were splashed everywhere after the battle with Loki."

"We know about the Avengers," Hank nodded, standing up to shake my hand. His wife followed suite, smiling a little too brightly for my taste.

"Anything you say in front of me can be said in front of them," Stark interrupted, walking back into the room with his drink.

"I don't like this," I said matter-of-factly.

"Suck it up, princess."

"If you two want to stop bickering like old women," Barton cut in, "will you please tell me what's going on?"

Stark picked up his television remote and un-muted the TV, which had been on silent. My attention turned to the breaking news story, and I slowly went to sit beside Tony on the couch.

"The so-called Mandarin has 50 hostages under his control in an unknown arena," the news lady was saying. "He kidnapped them no more than twenty-five minutes ago, and since then, he has sent out a ransom note to Tony Stark, the head of Stark Industries. Once again, here is the clip," she nodded on-screen, and was replaced by grainy footage.

A Chinese man in yellow and green robes stood on screen, a slimy grin on his face as he explained what was going on. "Hello, New York City, and hello Avengers," his stare made my blood run cold. "Captain America," the man spat, "Iron Man, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Masquerade, I know you're all watching this. Or . . . are you?" A chill ran down my spine, but I kept my expression blank. This guy was creepy. "Do you know the whereabouts of your teammate, Masquerade?"

"Yep. She's with you," Tony said, as if he was watching Dora the Explorer.

"You know, everything was going according to my plan," the Chinese man went on, "until she appeared and tried to burn me. But I took care of her," he smiled creepily. "It wasn't hard to figure out she was Masquerade. The tattoo was a giveaway."

I scratched at my leg, surveying the other people in the room. Clint was looking pale; Stark, conflicted. Hank and Janet — the two variables — both seemed to be sick to the stomach. Janet noticed me staring, and with a tight nod, she said "just wait till what he says next."

"She's not dead. Yet," the man on the screen said, his voice slimy. "Neither are my other _forty-nine_ hostages. But unless my demands are met, one hostage will die _every half hour_. It is 2:10 now. You have twenty minutes until the first one goes. And who knows? Maybe it'll be your precious Avenger," my insides squirmed.

"My demands have already been mailed to Tony Stark. Good luck, Avengers. You'll need it," he winked.

"Oh, and before the Daily Bugle comes up with some stupid name for me, I already have one. The Mandarin."

The video clip finished, and the blonde newscaster appeared on-screen again. Stark muted it, turning towards me. "This Mandarin guy has fifty hostages, including S— Masquerade," his eyes slid over Hank and Janet. "It's 2:27 now, and we're about to see if he'll go through with his threat."

"Haven't you done anything yet to try and save these people?" Clint asked, beginning to pace the room.

"Of course," Tony said, sounding offended that Clint had even suggested it. "JARVIS is sweeping the networks for the source of the video. It's our only lead, and so far, I've got nothing."

"Then what's the plan?"

"We attack," I answered for Stark. "We rescue the civilians and take down this Mandarin terrorist."

"What about that list of demands?" Clint asked, wearing a hole in the floor.

Stark chuckled darkly. "That's the thing," he said, taking a large swig of his vodka. "The Mandarin_ isn't_ just some random threat. I may have never heard of him before — none of us have — but I think he's got a long-term plan. This is just the beginning of the story."

"Why do you think that?" I grabbed Stark's drink and took a large sip myself.

"Because he's trying to frame us to look like we're not doing anything. JARVIS found the letter in my mailbox around the same time that the video was posted. His demand was simple: 'don't come looking for me, and don't stop me from killing these people.'"

"So basically . . . if we don't follow his orders, he'll kill a bunch of people, but if we _do_ follow his orders, he'll still kill a bunch of people?"

"He's testing us. This guy is clever," I tapped my fingers on my leg. "And that makes it even more essential that we find him as soon as possible."

"It's 2:30, Tony," Hank said in a tight voice. "Turn on the television volume."

Stark did so, and for a long minute we held our breath, waiting for some news. Just as we were starting to believe it wasn't coming, the screen flickered black — and then a new grainy, grey video popped up.

There was the Chinese man again, the Mandarin. He was grinning at the camera, as if he was pleased with himself about something. "The Avengers have not yet complied with my demands," he said, cracking his fingers. "Thus, one of your own has to die."

"Technically speaking, we _are_ doing what he asked us to," Clint pouted.

"You see? I was right. In the eyes of the public, we're just as bad as him now," Tony flushed red.

The Mandarin stepped away from the camera, revealing a slightly overweight and balding man, sitting on a white tiled floor. The man was trembling, tears running down his face as he clutched his pudgy hands over his ears.

"I wasn't born with superpowers," the Mandarin was saying. "Not like your beloved superheroes. But I did inherit a gift — ten alien rings, each with their own special power." He looked directly into the camera again, but he was standing so close I could only see his nose and eyes.

"He needs to work on his acting skills," Tony said smugly, but I could tell he was pissed about the fact that the Mandarin was outplaying us.

"You want to know my favorite way to kill people? Disintegrate them. Unfortunately, the Disintegration ring takes 30 minutes to recharge. That's why there must be such a long gap between when I kill people."

He stepped back from the camera, so that we could see the pudgy man on the ground. His eyes were screwed tight in terror as he rocked back and forth, mumbling to himself. Praying, I guess.

The Mandarin thrust out his fist, and the man was thrown backwards, into a wall that was almost completely out of sight. The man screamed in pure terror and agony as the Mandarin sent another wave of energy at the innocent civilian, smashing his head against a wall.

"Get up, fool!" the Mandarin shouted, dragging the civilian back into the camera's line of vision. "Tell the public why I'm forcing them to watch this live. TELL THEM."

The man could barely get the words out. "T-to m-m-m-make — to make an example-le of w-w-what's to c-come. To show the — the A-avengers wh-what they're dealing w-with."

"Good, very good," the Mandarin crooned, thrusting his fist out again. This time, the civilian started to disappear. It was like his skin was peeling off, becoming what looked like tiny strips of paper and floating away as he actually _disintegrated_ before our eyes.

"I have no mercy. Told you I'd kill him," the Mandarin crooned, standing before the camera again once the pudgy man was completely gone. "You have another half an hour, Avengers. I know you're out there somewhere. It's your move." With that, the broadcast was shut down.

I sat, staring at the television in complete disbelief. I had seen a lot in my days as a spy — I was Russian, for Pete's sake — but never something so . . . gruesome. Cold-blooded. Although I believed Stark's declaration that this man was looking to frame us, it still seemed like the Mandarin was killing for the sake of killing.

"Okay, let's move," I was the first to stand, snapping everyone out of their stupefied trance. "Tony, speed up JARVIS. We need to know where that video signal is coming from. Clint, do some research about the Mandarin. Find anything you can about him. I'll cross-reference pictures of the man in the video with all other pictures, both from the past and present. We need to do a sweep of every available camera and video, looking for a match with the Mandarin's picture. Just like we did with Loki."

"Who died and made you queen?" Stark snapped, draining the last of his vodka.

"Well, you were sitting there like a doorknob, and _someone_ had to take charge," I spat back. "A man was just killed on live television. We need to prevent another death from happening."

"And me? What can I do?" I turned to see Captain Steven Rogers standing in the doorway, his Captain America suit, shield and helmet tucked under his arm.

"You're right on time, Cap," I nodded at him. "Keep an eye on the television and the media, all right? We need to pay attention, just in case they pick up something we don't."

"They have Sam," he said bluntly. "The Mandarin knows that Sam is Masquerade."

Tony made a loud coughing noise, and Steve started when he noticed Hank and Janet in the room. "I mean, uh —"

"That blonde girl who was with Tony this morning is Masquerade?" Janet said, looking heartbroken, as if she had been best friends with Sam for years and years.

"Janet, it's not your place to ask that question," her husband gave her a look. "We have things to do, so we'll just be getting out of your hair. Good luck, Tony. Agents. Soldier." Hank grabbed Janet by the elbow, and led her out of the room briskly.

"What's his last name?" I asked, frowning at Stark.

"Pym."

"Huh," was all I said. The case I had been working on back on the Helicarrier had to do with "Pym Particles" — someone has mastered a formula to make themselves smaller and larger at will. S.H.I.E.L.D, of course, considered this a threat and a weapon, so they wanted to harness the power for themselves. It was possible that this Hank guy was the one who had invented it — Tony did like to hang around people with strange hobbies. I would have to look into this all later.

We got to work right away. Tony spent his time yelling and cursing at JARVIS while Clint searched for any Mandarin history. I contacted S.H.I.E.L.D, asking them to do a sweep of every camera, like they had done with Loki. To my disappointment, though, neither S.H.I.E.L.D nor Clint had any information about the Mandarin. It was almost as if he had appeared out of nowhere.

Steve, of course, was the most frustrated with his job. He hated the fact that he had to just sit there and watch television; the soldier would have preferred to be out and about, helping somehow.

It took us a long time to come up with nothing — _too_ long. We lost two more civilians while we did our research; every murder became more and more brutal. If anything good came out of Steve's TV-watching, it was the fact that he learned about a few ring functions. The Mandarin had rings that could set things on fire, turned things to ice, create energy waves, disintegrate molecules . . . with every new torture video, something new about the man's powers was revealed.

I had just got off the phone with S.H.I.E.L.D (they were telling me that so far, their camera sweep had revealed nothing whatsoever) when Steve let out a sharp cry. Checking the clock, my stomach dropped when I saw that it was 4:00.

Clint looked up at the screen and he, too, let out a little scream. I braced myself for the worst, reluctantly glancing at the new video that had just popped up.

The person on-screen let out a loud groan, sitting up. "Is this some sort of weird porno? Maybe some S&M thing?"

Sam.

She had definitely looked . . . better. A lot better. As if being covered in dirt and a few scrapes wasn't bad enough, she was an unhealthy shade of white. Sam's lips were blue, too, but she seemed to be acting fine. She was lying in a pool of blood, but I knew it wasn't hers — it was from the previous three civilians.

"The time," the Mandarin said into the camera, "is four o'clock. This shall be victim four."

"Victim?" Sam's voice was small.

"It took her long enough to wake up, didn't it?" the Mandarin pouted. "It's too bad. I was looking forward to having fun with this one."

"What the hell? Who the hell are you?" Sam stood up, wavering a bit on her feet.

"I am the Mandarin. And I'm sure that _some_ of the people watching this broadcast are already aware as to why I'm so excited for this next little bit." Clint made a little whimpering noise, and Steve punched a pillow.

The Mandarin thrust his fist out, this time electrocuting his victim. Well, that was a new one. Sam shrieked, and the noise was so terrible it grated against my ears; I could barely watch as she fell to her knees and started taking short, quick, uncontrollable breaths. The Mandarin put his fist down, letting her writhe in the memory of her pain instead.

"What's the camera for?" Sam said weakly. I was surprised she was even saying anything at all.

"I'm broadcasting this internationally," the Mandarin said smugly, and Sam's expression was purely horror-struck.

"No."

"Yes," came the immediate reply.

"Is it live?"

"But of course."

"What are you playing at?" Sam took a few deep breaths.

"She's trying to buy time," Stark said snippily. I hadn't even noticed him come into the room. "She's not stupid. Does S.H.I.E.L.D have anything yet, Natasha?"

My lack of response was as good a "no" for Tony as anything else could've been.

"Why, I'm killing people every half an hour. Three civilians are already dead and gone." Sam trembled, and had to lower herself to the ground so that she was resting on her elbows.

"Why? And why every . . . half hour?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

A wall of energy slammed into Sam, knocking her back into a wall with enough force to break something. She hadn't even fallen to the ground by the time another force field hit her, crushing Sam into another wall. Something cracked, but she stayed silent, instead curling up into a ball on the floor. Once she finally found the courage to roll over and lie on her back, there were tears streaming down her face.

"It's a pity. I thought you were going to put up more of a fight than this," the Mandarin said. "And yet," he cocked his head to the side, "you're still harder to break than the others."

"Why," a look of agony crossed Sam's face, "are you killing people every half an hour?"

"Because my Disintegration Beam ring takes thirty minutes to recharge. That's how I kill people, you know. Disintegrating them." He leaned over her, close to her face, and Cap made a small noise of disgust.

Sam's entire body was shaking as she lay helplessly on the floor. A large cut had opened up on the top of her head, and her hair was already soaked with blood. Her skin was pale from blood loss, too, as the blood began to dribble down her face and cover it in red.

Sam grunted with effort as she forced out a hand, setting the Mandarin's face on fire. The villain patted it out quickly before Sam could recover, and retaliated by setting her leg aflame. Half her blood-soaked hair caught fire soon after, and she burned her hands, trying to pat the flames out.

"You see? It's not nice to set people on fire," the Mandarin chided. "You need to clean up your act."

Sam pulled herself into a sitting position, every move exuding pain.

"You wanna explain those rings to me?" she asked.

"May as well. The public should know my power source," the Mandarin turned towards the camera. "Then it'll be easier to fear me, if they know what I can do. Basically, I have ten alien rings."

"Ooh, fun. More aliens."

The Mandarin slammed her against a wall with his force field power again, and another loud _crack_ echoed through the room. Clint winced, hiding behind his hands as the Mandarin went on to explain each individual function of the rings.

Afterwards, he shocked her again, and this time it was too much. Sam passed out halfway through, her body going limp as more blood continued to gush out of her head. She woke a few moments later, crumpled on the floor.

"I'm finished with you," the Mandarin frowned.

Finally, Sam retaliated. She sent a gust of wind his way, and he flew into the camera. Both the villain and the camera crashed to the floor, and there was a shot of Sam's panicked face, yelling "HELP!" before she disappeared.

The next few minutes were a blur of crappy camera quality. All we could see was a flurry of two pairs of feet, and the sounds of a battle raging through the speakers. I cringed every time it sounded like a blow connected with something; it was so hard to only be able to watch their _feet_ fighting. We had no idea who was winning and who was losing.

Eventually, the action ceased. Sam crumpled to the floor, but rather than completely giving up, she placed her hands against the ground. The camera — and the room — started to shake violently. _Earthquake_.

All of a sudden, the video feed just . . . stopped. The picture turned orange, then brown, then black. As if someone had set the camera on fire.

"Is she okay?" Steve yelled, getting up and standing inches from the television screen. "Is she alright?"

"She will be," Stark said, and I turned to see him grinning.

The quizzical looks from everyone were enough to convince Tony to keep talking. "During the fight with Loki, I realized how _specialized_ Sam's earthquakes are. They never exceed a two-block radius, and let out a very specific tracking signal. JARVIS! Find me the location of the most recent earthquake in NYC. Earthquakes here aren't that common now, are they?" Within moments, we had our location.

"Stark, I love you," Clint said, grabbing his bow and quiver filled with arrows. "Natasha and I left the Quinjet upstairs. We can be there within minutes."

Who would've known that after an hour and a half of hard computer labor, all it took to find their location was one tiny earthquake?

Life's funny like that sometimes.

* * *

**A/N: Hey guys :) **

**Ugh, Natasha is so hard to write X_X I'm hoping I did alright. Please tell me what you think, though! Did you notice the new review box? It's so weird O_o Please trying it out though, ahaha :P**

**Please check out the website - it's got all the character pictures on it, including the book cover for this story and pictures of Hank and Janet! I'd love to hear what you think of it all. You just have to remove the spaces and type this address into the URL bar (don't Google-search it; it won't come up!): lexiblazefanfiction . webs . com**

**Thanks so much to everyone who is reading, enjoying and/or reviewing! Your words, as always, means the world to me. Everyone never fails to put a smile on my face :D See? Like that one. Anyway, special thanks to the super-amazing reviewers: _Comiccrazygothgirl, Little Weasley Girl, Lane Fields, Nikita Amarie, brandibuckeye, Tbonechick2011, TheGirlThatIsBorderLineCrazy, A Contradiction, TA-TwinArmageddons, 16, GoForTehGig, Guest, _and _tribute14_! I hope to hear from you guys again :D**

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**- Alexa Blaze**


	4. Knowledge is Pain

Tony Stark's POV Silver Smoke IV

_All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing._

_- Maurice Maeterlinck_

HAHA. I have the new journal for the first time now. Good times, good times.

For once, I'm not going to ramble about how amazing I am. I'm sure you already know that, anyway. No, this time, I'm going to cut straight to the story.

I flew ahead of the Quinjet (which held Black Widow, Cap, and Hawkeye), leading them to the co-ordinates that JARVIS had given me and scouting out what we were dealing with.

The building that we flew to was nothing special — just a broken-down warehouse resting on top of a hill. But dust rose from around it as the ceiling caved in, and there were a few civilians escaping through a hole in a wall. I didn't know what we had missed, but there seemed to have been another earthquake.

I flew back to the Quinjet, reporting what I saw quickly. "Cap, I'm coming to pick you up so I can get you in the fight right away, while Hawkeye and Black Widow see what they can do from the air."

"Roger that," came dear old Freedom Pants' response. Ahh, I missed using that nickname.

The small loading dock in the Quinjet opened, and I flew in, grabbing the Captain before zooming back out again, putting everything I had into my boosters. We shot towards the building in silence, both of us weary of what we were about to find. The earthquake had stopped a few moments ago, and to my surprise, there was already a giant-sized hole in the wall, through which people were escaping.

I dropped Cap right in the thick of things, when suddenly someone called out "Iron Man!" Looking down and pausing in flight, I located the source of the familiar voice.

A man was standing on top of a pile of rubble, waving me over. He wore a skin-tight red suit and a strange silver helmet, and beside him hovered a large, humanoid black-and-yellow bug.

"Who the hell are you?" I asked, hovering over the man and his pet. The bug, which was shrinking in size, flew up to buzz in my ear.

"I'm Wasp," it said in a female voice. "That would be Ant-Man." I snorted at their terrible choice of names.

"Okay, playtime's over. We've thwarted your plan. Where's the Mandarin?" I lit up my repulsor beams, directing them straight at Ant-Man.

"What? No! We're here to help! It was Wasp who broke the hole in the wall so people could get out!" Ant-Man held his hands over his head, cowering. "But for what it's worth, I think the Mandarin is upstairs. We're off to help Captain America with the citizens!"

"Uh, no," I shook my head. "As far as I'm aware, you two are unknown, and could thus be classified as criminals. If you know what's good for you, you'll both stand down," the little rockets in my shoulders popped up, pointing at both costumed "superheroes".

"WAIT!" Ant-Man called. "Stop! I know where Sam is!"

I have to admit, that gave me pause. "Is she still alive?"

"Barely. She'll need immediate medical attention," Wasp responded. "And . . . we don't _actually_ know where she is. Just that she's alive somewhere, and she needs help."

I sighed, glaring (although it's not like they could tell). "You're both still under arrest. And yes, my status as an Avenger gives me enough power to arrest you both."

There was suddenly a burst of energy from the second floor of the building. It was strong enough to send the remaining walls crumpling down, as rubble flew in every direction and I was sent spinning through the air.

I collided with the floor, feeling slightly battered. To my left, Captain stood staring at something open-mouthed. I turned to look up at the balcony, and was met with an unwelcome sight.

The Mandarin, of course. I do have to admit, I was surprised he didn't have orange skin, or that he was wearing an orange robe. Seriously, whenever I heard his name, I couldn't stop thinking about Mandarin oranges. Confession: I was getting kind of hungry.

He was even slimier in person, and he glared down at us with rage in his eyes. Lifting his fist, he sent one of those energy waves towards a group of civilians. Cap jumped in front of them just in time, his vibranium shield taking the full force of the impact.

_My turn. _

I put everything into the foot boosters, flying forwards and colliding directly with the Mandarin. We went crashing through a pile of rubble, skidding outside onto the roof. "MASQUERADE!" I heard him shout, staring off across a field, but when I looked over no one was there.

The Mandarin turned towards me again, this time with anger painted across his features. "Iron Man. How nice it is to finally meet you."

"I'm afraid I can't say the same about you," I responded stiffly, getting up from my position on the ground. "Surrender now, Mandarin. I've got a Quinjet and Captain America on my side. You have no chance."

"Ah, Captain America. Yes, I've heard so much about him. One of my . . . colleagues . . . really has it out for him."

". . . What?"

"Are you seriously that naïve? I always thought you were the smart one, Iron Man. I guess even I can be wrong," he took a few steps towards me. "I'm not working alone. In fact, the _real_ reason this whole thing was staged was just so that the world could get a taste of my . . . style, shall we say. This isn't even the real show."

"Jeez, I hope not. Otherwise, it'd be too easy. And that's no fun."

The Mandarin bared his teeth. He raised his fist and I felt a wave of cold air wash over me. To my horror I found my suit frozen, and it creaked as I tried to move my arms.

"JARVIS," I said, "heaters!"

Within moments, I was thawed. Maybe the Mandarin was underestimating me, because that really was too easy.

He did pose a threat, though. Sure, my repulsor beams and heavy artillery rained down on him, but he was definitely a skilled martial artist. Those ten rings of his, too, helped out. Over the course of our battle on the rooftop, I think he used, like, seven on them on me.

I took a few steps towards the Mandarin, walking across the roof slowly. But I wasn't moving slowly _on purpose. _My feet felt like lead (ignore the fact that I was wearing my Iron Man boots). I took one step – _just one _– and went crashing through the roof. Either I had suddenly gained a lot of weight, or there was something else at play here.

I swore, trying to get up, but I was pinned to the ground by _nothing. _It was as if some invisible force was pushing me down. No, not pushing me down . . . _holding _me down.

The Mandarin jumped through the newly-created hole in the roof, landing beside me lightly. "Can you guess what my White Light ring does, Mr. Stark?"

"Makes you an asshole?"

"It controls gravity," he said, as the unseen force pushed me further into the ground. The floor started to crack under my weight as gravity, I guess, became so strong around me that the earth was trying to pull me into itself.

"JARVIS, put everything we've got into the boosters," I said through my teeth, and by some miraculous force, I was able to break out of the pod of gravity. The Mandarin turned towards me, intent on using another ring, but I shot him right in the chest with an energy repulsor beam. He flew backwards, skidding across the floor, but sprang back up almost right away.

He jumped onto the top of a large pile of rubble, sending another wave of ice towards me. I zoomed away, flying over his head and shooting at the man from behind. He stumbled forward, but kept his footing, whipping around to blast me with flames this time.

"Argh!" I cried out involuntarily, my boosters shorting as I fell out of the air, landing near the Mandarin. The flames went out quickly – it's pretty hard to burn metal like mine – but the Mandarin was now standing over me.

"I was expecting more of a challenge, Iron Man," the Mandarin said, disappointment in his voice as he pointed his fist at me. I began to feel the effects of too-much gravity again, cracking the floor and pulling me under.

"_Missiles_, JARVIS, missiles!" I shouted through the crushing pressure, and to my great relief one of the shoulder panels in my armour opened up and a small missile shot towards the Mandarin. His concentration broken, I got up from the ground as he dodged the weapon; it crashed into a wall, bringing down another chunk of the building.

I stood in front of the Chinese man and stared at him with a displeased expression on my face (not that he could see it). "Okay, no more Mister Nice Guy," I said, while JARVIS opened up every panel in my suit that contained a weapon of some sort. "Make your move, Mandarin."

All the civilians now out of the building, Captain America came rushing up behind the Mandarin, his shield attached firmly to his arm. Agent Romanoff flew overhead, the Quinjet hovering just above us as Hawkeye jumped out, his bow already notched with an arrow.

"You're surrounded, Mandarin," Cap shouted up to where I was standing on a pile of rubble with the threat. "If you know what's good for you, you'll st-"

The Mandarin whipped around, delivering a kick to my face while he shot a wave of energy towards Captain, knocking the man off his feet. Hawkeye let loose with an arrow, but it burned up in the air before it could reach the Mandarin.

"Deploy a missile, JARVIS," I said, fixing my helmet from the askewed position the Mandarin had kicked it into. Another one of my shoulder missiles fired, but a swirling vortex of air knocked it off-course, towards Captain, who saw it just in time to duck behind his shield as it exploded against the ground.

"Fine. We'll do this the hard way," I grumbled, shooting at the Mandarin with a repulsor beam as I stepped closer. He went to hit me in the head again, but I ducked, instead kicking out and knocking one of his knees. He crumpled to the ground, but was up again in a flash; a well-placed kick to the underside of my chin sent my helmet flying off, skittering down the mountain of rubble.

I hadn't even turned around to stare at him in shock when he punched me in the side of the face; the Chinese villain grabbed me by the hair and slammed my head into the ground. Anger rose in my chest as a bit of blood – I was actually _bleeding – _started to dribble down the side of my face.

Up in the Quinjet, Natasha Romanoff starting firing at the Mandarin with the gun mounted on the front of the plane. He had no reservations about raising his fist and sending a vortex of swirling wind up towards her – a miniature tornado practically attacked the Quinjet, knocking it out of the air. It crashed somewhere outside of the building, and I watched as a plume of smoke began to rise in the air.

A distraught Hawkeye began firing arrows again, and one of them even caught the Mandarin in the leg. But he pulled it out, throwing it to the ground as he raised his fist towards Agent Barton. "You bore me," he said, as Clint was trapped in the beam of one of the rings. His skin started to peel off like paper, floating away as if they were just cinders from a fire. It was a ring function that I recognized – the disintegration ring. The same one he had used to kill three civilians.

"No!" I shouted, struggling to my feet to save Clint, but Captain America beat me to it. He threw his shield, knocking the Mandarin's arm back to his side, and then tackled the Chinese man. They went rolled down the pile of rubble, landing beside me.

I was staring in wonder at Clint, though. He was okay, if a bit shaken – but there were now hundreds of ants collecting underneath him, picking him up and carrying him over to where I saw the Wasp and Ant-Man standing. Now that the Wasp was human size, I realized she looked awfully familiar . . . if only the dust would settle enough for me to get a better look at her face, as she wasn't wearing a mask or helmet, like Ant-Man . . .

"Hey!" I shouted. "Put him down!" I sent a repulsor beam over at them, but they jumped out of the way.

"Just let us help! He needs medical attention!" Ant-Man shouted back as Clint arrived at his feet; he picked the agent up and dragged him outside with Wasp. "We need to study the effects of the disintegration ring on his system and body-"

"HE'S NOT A FUCKING SCIENCE EXPERIEMENT!" I roared, surprising even myself. I didn't know if these people were friend or foe, and they had just_ carried my teammate off on the back of an army of ants!_

Ant-Man ignored me, instead electing to leave me standing, perplexed in the dust. Ignoring the brawling Cap and Mandarin on the ground, I rushed over to where they had disappeared, but Natasha appeared in the way.

"Stop, Stark," she held up her hand. From where I was standing, I could see the downed Quinjet in a field; she had made it out of it alive, thank god.

"They just kidnapped Agent Barton!"

"I think they know what they're doing," she said quickly, pushing me back into the warehouse. "S.H.I.E.L.D's been working on a case – we've been studying something called Pym Particles. I think that Ant-Man and Wa-"

I was spared her lecture by a dark light. Well, not exactly. It was more someone had pulled a piece of wool over my eyes. The Mandarin had deployed use of his Black Light ring – it absorbed all light in the warehouse, and then some. I honestly couldn't see anything, and I stumbled into Natasha; we crashed to the floor. Even the lights in my suit had gone out. They were still working – just dark. I couldn't see a single damn thing.

"JARVIS, set our _small_ heat-seeking missile for the Mandarin. Use his emitting energy rays to find him," I said softly, trying to keep quiet so the villain wouldn't know what I was doing. And although I couldn't _see _anything, JARVIS's voice rang back as steady as ever: "Launching, sir, in three. Two. One."

I felt the panel on my underarm open up, and the precious heat-seeking missile sped off, hissing as it zoomed through the air. A loud cry reached our ears in a moment, along with the noise of the explosion.

The lights came back on, and I blinked rapidly at the sudden brightness. The Mandarin and Cap were both lying on the ground, groaning; Captain must've been near enough to the Mandarin to get hit by the missile. I had expected that, too – that's why I had sent out the "small" missile, which wasn't actually set to cause a huge explosion.

Cap moaned, getting to his feet. The Mandarin lay on the ground, unmoving, as Natasha crawled away from me and headed towards him. "He's unconscious," she reported, once she was near enough. "Let's get these rings off of him. You guys were losing the fight," (both the Captain and I glared at her), "because you were going about it the wrong way. Tony, you couldn't beat him because his powers matched yours. From what I could see from the Quinjet, hand-to-hand combat would have been the best way to take this guy down."

"Nat, he was a skilled martial artist. A _highly _skilled martial artist. The only person I've ever seen fight almost as well as him was, well, you," I said_, _retrieving my helmet. "No offence, Cap. But you're not exactly a karate sort of guy. You just kind of . . . punch people."

"Don't worry about it," he got up, stretching his arms. "Tony, call for S.H.I.E.L.D. We'll probably need them to come and pick him up-" he was cut short, staring over at Nat in horror. I turned, preparing for the worst.

The Mandarin was no longer unconscious – or maybe he had never even been out at all. He now had Natasha in a headlock, holding both her arms behind her back with just one hand. She had all ten of his rings clutched in her fists, but the Mandarin was still grinning.

"You underestimate me, dear Avengers," he said in his slimy voice, making my skin crawl. "You think my rings and my martial arts prowess are my only skills?"

"No, you're good at being a jerk, too," I cut in, unable to help myself.

He laughed. "I'm also a genius, Tony Stark, not unlike you. And I have friends in, shall we say, higher places ," his sinister grin widened as he pulled back a fold of his yellow and green robe to reveal a silver box, strapped to his chest. "My rings don't give me teleportation powers – but this, this does. How else did you think I got all fifty people in here in such a short time?"

I realized what he was going to do even before Nat and Captain. "NO!"

But in a blink, the Mandarin teleported away, Natasha still under his arm.

Captain America fell to his knees. "This is a disaster," he groaned, punching through a pile of rubble. "Nat's been kidnapped, Clint's been dragged off to God-knows-where, the Quinjet is ruined, the Mandarin's escaped, and we've destroyed a building."

"Actually, Sam destroyed the building," I said helpfully.

"Oh, right. Let's add that to our list of screw-ups: Sam's missing."

Or so we thought. In the next twenty-four hours while the city cleaned up our mess, they found seven bodies – all civilians who had been crushed and killed in the earthquake. The three hostages that the Mandarin had killed were gone, obviously – they really had been disintegrated.

And so was Sam. Her body was never found; there was no trace of her whatsoever. We had to assume the worst: the Mandarin had gotten his chance to disintegrate her.

Masquerade was the first Avenger to die. She was the youngest; the newest hero. I knew it was going to cripple our team mentally. Fury had tried to turn an 18-year-old into a heroine, and he was rewarded with this.

We had really messed up. Even though we foiled the villain's plan . . . the Mandarin still won.

* * *

**Author's Note: WAIT DON'T PANIC. This is from Tony's POV, so he obviously doesn't know everything (even though he pretends to). To him, Sam may be dead, but I'll let you in on a little secret: she's actually just MIA. Next chapter will be from her POV.**

**Sorry for the late update today, guys. I've had minimal computer access (as a matter of fact, I'm posting this from my phone). I haven't been able tostepsons to reviews yet, but I'll do so later tonight. **

**There was an overwhelming response to last chapter: thank you all so, so much for your kind feedback! I was blown away from all of the comments from you wonderful, truly AMAZING readers. Thank you to everyone who is reading; your support means so much to me. Extra-special thanks to those FANTASTIC reviewers: _WhatTheF-HaveUDoneLately-Cross, ILoveReadingAndWriting, tribute14, brandibuckeye, Lane Fields, Azula Malfoy, StarViky, cucumbersrockursocks, samlily41, Tbonechick2011, Comiccrazygothgirl, LunaTheLoneWolf, Wolf Eared Girl, TheGirlThatIsBorderLineCrazy, Little Weasley Girl, 16_ and _Nikita Amarie! _**

**Thank you so much to everyone for all your support — please leave a review in the fancy new review-box thing and tell me what you thought of this chapter!**

**READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Alexa Blaze**


	5. Victims in Love

Sam Silverman's POV

_She's not showing any interest in me and she looks like she doesn't want to be here. Should I take off her handcuffs? I thought kidnap victims were supposed to fall in love with their captors?_

― _Jarod Kintz, __The Titanic would never have sunk if it were made out of a sink_

Well, wasn't everything just fine and dandy.

There I was, driving along in my car like a boss. I had the stereo on (Led Zeppelin, of course) and I had just stopped by McDonald's for a chocolate milkshake. I was going to see Steve. Everything was right in the world.

Until I came upon the most chaotic goddamn traffic jam in my life.

There were people running around screaming and panicking as cars randomly collided into each other, and a few engines caught on fire. I stepped out of the car, eager to see what was going on . . . and if I could potentially fix it.

When I concentrated, it was easy enough to see it happen. Some helpless person would be standing on the street or sitting in their car, minding their own business, and then some Asian guy in a robe would just . . . _appear_ . . . beside them. He stayed there long enough to grab onto the person, and then they'd both disappear.

Okay. Definitely not normal.

I needed to distract this mysterious disappearing guy; needed to keep him occupied while citizens ran for cover. I steeled myself, leaning against my car and raising my arms.

I mentioned I was an element controller, right? Basically, I could manipulate each element in one way. I could control air currents and wind, or cause earthquakes; I also had control of fire — I could random combust things without even touching them. Water was a little more confusing: I could literally turn into water.

Hands up, I waited for the green-and-yellow Chinese guy to appear. And appear he did — right in front of me. Seemed I was his next victim.

I let out a little scream, but set his robe on fire anyway. The man patted it out quickly, and I noticed 10 rings shining on his fingers, each a different color and shape.

The man grabbed my wrist and I kicked out at him, connecting with a leg. But he hardly seemed bothered. Instead, he gazed at my wrist intently, at my tattoo.

"Masquerade, huh?" he said in a clipped accent.

Well, shit.

We disappeared then. Well, not actually. It was more like we . . . teleported. I blacked out for a few seconds, and when I came to my senses, I was standing in a large warehouse, surrounded by the other missing civilians.

The Chinese guy was still holding my wrist, and I twisted my hand around, aiming to set his face directly on fire.

Something hit me then, though. He raised his hand to meet mine, and faster than I could blink a shock of cold ran through me. It wasn't a pleasant cold, either — it was the kind if freezing pain people feel when they're about to die in a snowstorm. It _hurt_. And I felt it right down to my core.

I tried to blast him with fire again, but nothing happened. My eyes stared to close as I felt my brain shut down, the numbness taking over. Everything was just so cold, as if I was standing naked in a freezer . . . like ice crystals, scratching against my skin.

I don't know how long it was until I woke up, but eventually I came to my senses. The freezing, paralyzing pain had gone away, so that I now just felt normal again.

"You, my dear, just got to experience the Ice Blast ring," I heard a slimy, heavily accented voice, and I turned over to see my kidnapper. It was the Asian man dressed in the green and yellow robe, with a fancy moustache and unforgiving black eyes.

I was lying on the floor, but from my vantage point I could see the man and a video camera, hosted on a tripod. "Ugh," I groaned, sitting up. "Is this some sort of weird porno? Maybe some S&M thing?"

He ignored my question. "The time," the man said into the camera lens, "is four o'clock. This shall be victim four."

"Victim?" I panicked, looking around and realizing there wasn't a single door or window in the room. He must have used those fancy teleportation powers to get into this small white-tiled room.

It was then that I looked down and found myself sitting in a puddle of blood . . . that wasn't mine.

"It took her long enough to wake up, didn't it?" Asian guy said, making a sympathetic face and looking over at me. "It's too bad. I was looking forward to having fun with this one."

"What the hell? Who the hell are you?" I scrambled to my feet, slipping a bit in the red blood that I was seriously trying hard not to think about.

"I am the Mandarin," he said, as if speaking to a five-year-old. "And I'm sure that _some_ of the people watching this broadcast are already aware as to why I'm so excited for this next little bit."

"What next-AIEE!"

I shrieked as he thrust his hand out, much like Iron Man and I both do when we're shooting a blast of something. This time, the effect was similar — a wave of electricity, probably as strong as Thor's lightning, rocked through me as I screamed.

I found myself on my knees, panting with my hair frizzing up around my head. I wasn't entirely sure how I got on my knees, but my lungs felt ten times smaller, and all my nerves were working overtime.

I couldn't take another hit like that. It had been too painful; too taxing. He had _electrocuted _me. I needed to keep this guy — the Mandarin — talking, so he didn't attack me again.

"What's the camera for?" I managed out, although it was weak.

"I'm broadcasting this internationally," he said with a smile in his voice, and I looked up in horror.

"No."

"Yes," he grinned back creepily.

"Is it live?"

"But of course."

I shut my eyes again, trying to breathe through my nose. "What are you playing at?"

"Why, I'm killing people every half an hour," he said as if he was talking about a fucking pony. "Three civilians are already dead and gone." I felt like pissing my pants. In fact, I wasn't entirely sure I hadn't already done so.

"Why? And why every . . . half hour?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

I shrieked again as he hit me with more energy, but this time, it wasn't electric. What literally felt like a wall slammed me back against the far side of the room, and then threw me into the floor. This guy was controlling everything with his hands, I noticed, just like I did.

He obviously hadn't yet had enough yet; he slammed me against another wall, and I grit my teeth as I felt something _crack_ in my ribcage.

I fell to the floor, panting, and yet finding it incredibly painful to breathe. A few tears leaked out of my eyes as I turned over on my side, staring towards the ceiling.

The Mandarin was staring down at me, pouting. "It's a pity. I thought you were going to put up more of a fight than this. And yet," he tapped his finger on his chin, "you're still harder to break than the others."

"Why," I tried my question again, my voice wheezing, "are you killing people every half an hour?"

He leaned over me, and I got to smell his breath, which reminded me of dead fish mixed with dragon ass. "Because my Disintegration Beam ring takes thirty minutes to recharge. That's how I kill people, you know. I disintegrate them."

I was seriously starting to fear for my life now.

"ARGHH!" I had to shout with the effort, reaching out my hand and setting his face on fire. He patted the flames out quickly, and it left no damage whatsoever. I groaned, knowing what was coming next.

It was my pant leg that caught on fire, and I cried out in terror. I stopped, dropped and rolled, ignoring the pain in my rib. Before I knew it half my hair was burning, and I had to pat that out, too.

"You see? It's not nice to set people on fire," the Mandarin chastised. "You need to clean up your act."

I pulled myself into a sitting position, looking for another way to stall. Certainly the Avengers would be on their way by now, or something. If the Mandarin broadcasted all of his deaths then _surely_ one of my teammates would have noticed this terrorist act.

"You wanna explain those rings to me?" I asked, panting for breath and wiping my sweaty hair off my face.

"May as well. The public should know my power source," the Mandarin turned towards the camera. "Basically, I have ten alien rings."

"Ooh, fun. More aliens."

I was slammed against the wall for that comment by another force field of energy, and it broke another rib.

"I am a human, foolish girl. But these rings are not. One has the power of White Light; one of Black Light. Ice Blast, Flame Blast, Electro-Blast," he pointed to each individual ring as I tried to figure a way out of this goddamn room. I could barely think straight, through the haze of my pain. "Mento-Intensifier. Disintegration Beam, Vortex Beam, and Impact Beam. Ahh, and we mustn't forget the Matter Rearranger."

"So how do you teleport?"

"A magician must not reveal all his secrets."

I received an electrical shock, blacking out halfway through. When I woke up again, I was lying on the floor — and this time, when I woke up in a pool of blood, it was my own.

The Mandarin frowned. "You, my dear girl, have been a disappointment. I'm finished with you," he raised his hands.

So I hit him with a blast of wind.

He went flying backwards, crashing into the camera. They both went tumbling to the floor, and I found myself looking straight into the lens. "Help!" I shrieked as the Mandarin grabbed one of my legs, hoisting me back and up.

"Insolent girl!" he asked, and I blasted his feet with air; we both went tumbling to the ground, and I got up before he could move. Rather than lighting his head on fire — he would just retaliate with a probably-fatal electrical blast — I kicked him in the face, feeling the crunch of his nose under my foot.

I had underestimated this guy, though. Obviously, he had trained in martial arts. He knew every move to counter mine; every offensive play to outmatch me.

I do have to admit, though, it's not like I was a black belt in karate or something. I had learned all my fighting techniques from Steve, during his visits to Chicago and the week I spent at his apartment. But this guy was better than anyone even Steve could've faced, and I had no chance whatsoever.

The biggest problem was that there was no exit from the room. Obviously the Mandarin had used his teleportation skills to get in and out of here, and he wouldn't tell me _how_ he teleported. I was left having to make my own way out.

After a few minutes of fighting (mainly him on the offense and me on the defense), I "gave up". Slumping to the ground, I pretended to me overcome by him. But instead, I placed my hands flat on the floor . . . and created an earthquake.

The room started shaking violently almost right away, and I almost collapsed with relief.

But I wasn't done yet. The room may have been shaking, but I was still stuck with the Mandarin. Hastily, I picked up the camera with one hand (while still keeping the earthquake going) and threw it at him, lighting it on fire on the way. It caught him the knee, and because it was so unexpected, his legs buckled.

The shaking of the room prevented us both from getting up, and finally, the walls started to crack. To my relief, a huge chunk of ceiling fell away, landing between me and my kidnapper. More of the wall caved in, and dust clouds accompanied the loud rumbling.

_Good enough_, I thought, taking my hands away and stumbling through the hole in the wall. I had to take a breather and lean against the wall as a dizzy spell took over me, but in a moment I was alright to go on. I wasn't _good_ — not by a long shot — but I was alright.

I found myself standing on a balcony, overlooking a large ballroom-factory-warehouse sort of place. There were dozens of civilians crowed below me, crying and panicking as the ceiling above started to crack, thanks to my earthquake.

I went to lean over the balcony, eager to get the people's attention, but something went wrong. I don't know if the railing was weakened from the earthquake, or if in my exhaustion I had leaned too heavily, but I went tumbling to the floor below with a section of the railing. People screamed; the wind was knocked out of me as I lay on my back, in unbearable pain.

Eventually, I got up. It hurt every fibre in my being to move, but I had no choice. "Has anyone looked for a door?" I asked, coughing up a bit of blood.

People exchanged murmurs and words; none that I could distinguish. Sighing, I got to my feet and pushed through the crowd, towards the back wall.

I raised my arms, ignoring the trembling of my muscles as I concentrated on a small section of the wall. _C'mon_, I thought, my thoughts fading as I began to lose consciousness, _just a little wall-quake. Just a little one._

I didn't succeed.

Instead, the whole place came tumbling down. People screamed as I stood there, trying to make a hole in the wall for me to lead the public through. The ceiling began caving in as we stood there like trapped ants.

Ants. Huh. Funny I should mention that. Ants and wasps.

It was then, that the roof was caving in and the walls were shaking and it looked like everyone was going to die, that something — scratch that, some_one_ — smashed through the very wall I was trying to break. They were the size of a giant, wearing a black suit with a yellow stomach. The person (a woman, I realized) had short black hair and wings, actual wings, growing out of her back.

She broke a hole in the wall big enough for civilians to start to get through. As the woman ushered them outside, she started to shrink back to normal size.

I could hardly see her through the tears in my eyes; through the haze of pain in my mind. I was so out of it that I didn't even think to stop the earthquake.

A man ran into the room, towards me. He wore a red bodysuit and a strange silver helmet, and as he sprinted towards me, he was shouting something. Blood dribbled slowly out of my nose and down my face as I finally tuned in to his words: "Samantha! Stop! You're going to kill yourself! STOP!"

I blinked as he got closer, as if coming out of a haze. Except, I _wasn't_ coming out. As I lowered my arms the earthquake stopped, but I was still completely and utterly "out of it".

More of the ceiling collapsed — this time on me.

I didn't even have enough energy to scream.

I'm not sure what was real and what was my imagination. I might have been hallucinating. It's likely I was, because what happened next was quite bizarre. As I lay on the ground, trapped under a pile of rubble and flickering between life and death, _ants_ started to collect around me. Thousands and thousands of _ants_.

You know what they say about ants being able to lift five times their weight? Well, it's true. Especially when there's a shit-ton of said ants. I don't know why they did it — what possessed all of them to come together and save me — but slowly, they lifted the pile of rubble that was pinning me down.

Something buzzed by my ear, and I cracked open my eyelids to see that woman, the giant woman, now the size of a wasp. Her wings were buzzing like any normal insect's as she inspected the damage done to me.

She flew off without saying anything, and the man in the red suit and silver helmet came to help me up. I waved him off, feeling unbalanced. "There's still," I choked out, my lungs burning, "there's still civilians trapped under the — the —"

I tried to take a step forward, but my leg crumpled beneath me, and I tumbled down the pile of rubble to the floor. "Samantha, you've broken you leg," the man called out, but I ignored him and instead crawled my way away.

I don't know why he didn't come after me. There were still more people trying to get out of the building, so that might have had something to do with it. Or it could have been the cries of "Iron Man!" and "Cap!" I was too messed up to really be paying attention. Maybe if I had, I would have saved myself a lot of pain.

Instead, I made my way outside of the building, on the other side of where all the action was. There was a large, unkept yard, and beyond that a steep slope that ended in God-knows-what. I stumbled across the field, not entirely sure where I was going. Everything felt numb all of a sudden. My ribs no longer hurt; my body didn't ache. And I didn't know what that man had been talking about: broken leg? Please. I didn't feel a thing. Although I recognized a lot of blood and flesh and maybe even a bit of bone when I looked down, it didn't register with my brain to stop moving. I was still in fight or flight mode.

I made it to the edge of the field, where the steep slope was. Leaning over, I vomited up everything in my stomach; I kept puking until the only thing coming up was acid. Exhaustion — maybe death, I couldn't tell — started taking over my body.

I heard a cry of "MASQUERADE!" from the ruins of the building, and I looked back to see the Mandarin, standing on the warehouse roof, glaring at me. He raised his hands, obviously intent on using the rings. Maybe he was going to disintegrate me.

I never found out. Completely done in, I slipped over the side of the slope, tumbling down it. Fallen leaves got caught in my hair as I somersaulted head over heels, crashing into trees but being too out of it to really be able to comprehend what was going on.

Eventually, I came to a stop at the bottom of the slope, my mind reeling dizzily. I started to cry and hiccup all at once, curling in on myself. The pain was starting to return.

It took me a while to realize that at the bottom of the hill, where I was now resting, was a small river. A slightly insane grin split my face, and I realized I was missing a tooth as I slipped headfirst into the water, welcoming its cool forgiveness against my scratched skin.

And then I turned into water, letting all my pain and confusion and worries and guilt wash away with the river.

**-Lexi's away at the moment and can't update anything so she's given me her password to put this up. She should be back soon. Since she's away she cant respond to your reviews or anything because she doesn't have wifi. She buying me shawarma when she gets back. Just so we have it in writing. Yum. Love Sierra. **


	6. Megaphone

Steve Rogers' POV 

_But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphones to rouse a deaf world.  
- C.S. Lewis_

The next day, Tony made a list of the things we needed to do. It wasn't a happy list.

Really Important Crap That we Need to Sort Through Before the Whole Bloody World Blows up

_Find Natasha Romanoff_

_Contact Dr. Bruce Banner and convince him to come back to NYC_

_Get S.H.I.E.L.D to pay for all the damage we did in the warehouse_

_Get in touch with Sammy's family about a funeral/memorial service_

_Figure out who the hell Ant-Man and Wasp are_

_Replace the Quinjet_

_Track down the Mandarin_

_Figure out if the Mandarin really was working for someone else_

_Uncover his master plan_

_Ruin those goddamn alien rings_

_Introduce Steve to Nyan Cat_

_Fix up the Iron Man suit_

_See if Thor would be interested in coming back to Earth for this shit_

_Attend that stupid press conference about what happened with the Mandarin_

_Convince the public it's not our fault a bunch of civilians croaked_

In the twenty-four hours since the battle (which the media was calling "The Terror of Terra Street", since that was where the warehouse was), a lot had happened. The building had been cleared of rubble and the seven bodies of the people who had perished in the earthquake. Sam and the three other victims of disintegration had officially been declared "dead" on national television. The government had declared this a terrorist attack "of supernatural nature", and handed the case to S.H.I.E.L.D. S.H.I.E.L.D had handed the case to us. And Tony had declared an official "Avengers Assemble".

Agent Clint Barton had appeared at Stark Tower just a few minutes after we got there. Tony, of course, had demanded the man tell him _everything_ about Ant-Man and Wasp. As it turned out, there wasn't much to tell – Ant-Man had taken a blood sample while Wasp helped him regain energy and consciousness, and then they had left without another word. Tony was disappointed by this, of course, but he let Barton rest – at Stark Tower, of course. "I want every one of our Avengers here, staying at the tower, while we deal with this threat."

"Why isn't the government just treating it like some random criminal?" I asked, while Tony drowned his sorrows in a bottle of vodka.

"Steven Rogers, I thought you were smarter than that," he shook his head. "It's not the Mandarin the government wants us to track down. It's those rings. If you, Nat, Clint and I couldn't control them, even when we were all working together, then they're obviously a threat."

"Oh. Right," I said, my mouth twitching.

Tony left for a press conference then, to explain to the country what exactly had happened (and why it had taken us so long to get to the scene of the crime). Before he left, he got in touch with Dr. Banner. It took 36 minutes (Tony was timing it) to convince him to come back to Manhattan to deal with the Mandarin. Eventually, Banner gave in. I think he was actually friends with Tony, in a way.

I was rather relieved when Tony left, I'll admit it – but only because I had my own detective work to do.

I wasn't upset over Sam's death. Not like Tony was. But that was because I didn't believe she had truly died. The number-one rule, I had thought, was to never give up on your teammates. If she had died, we would have found her body. Or, as Tony was suggesting, she had been disintegrated. But I knew that to be a lie.

The Mandarin himself had specifically stated that his Disintegration Beam ring took 30 minutes to recharge. When he had his fight with Sam on television, it had been fully charged. But then, only _twenty_ minutes later, he had attempted to use it on Agent Barton. If he had really used it to kill Sam, then it wouldn't have been charged.

Tony said that Ant-Man had told him Sam was severely hurt; near death. She was a resourceful girl, too. My conclusion was that she couldn't have gotten far from the site, due to injuries; but she had gone off somewhere, out of danger's path. Besides, I wasn't going to give up on her. Had I given up on Bucky when I was told he was dead, back in World War II? No. I wasn't going to accept Sam's death until I actually saw proof.

That was why I mounted my motorbike and headed back to Terra Street, eager on checking things out. I wore normal clothes – my brown leather jacket and brown slacks, along with a plain white t-shirt, tucked into my pants. Okay, so maybe it wasn't _modern _sort of normal, but it wasn't my Captain America uniform.

It took me ten minutes to get there, and once I did, my path to the building was blocked off by news vans and a police barricade. I had to park my bike and walk, ducking under the _CRIME SCENE: DO NOT CROSS _tape.

"Sir, you can't be here," a policeman approached me, his hand on the pistol tucked into his belt. I fumbled, pulling out my Avengers security card. He took one look at it, his eyes wide, and then waved me on, dumbfounded.

Walking past the warehouse, I glanced over it quickly (well, what was left of it, anyway). I headed towards the back field that I had spotted – surely the cops had already checked it out, but it was the most likely place Sam could've gone.

I was proud of myself for not freaking out, but I think that's because I had gone into a sort of shock. Sam was, in essence, the only person in this modern world that I had connected with; losing her would just bring back a fresh bout of depression. Not only would I have lost my friends from the forties, but I would lose my first friend from this era, too. So I ignored the possibility of her death, and instead focused on the slim chance that she might still be alive. Nothing was going to make me think otherwise. I didn't even want to think about what I would do if she really was gone. If _any _of my new teammates were gone. Nat's disappearance was hard enough to deal with, but I was holding onto the hope that she could take care of herself.

Some urge – some _instinct – _made me look up. There was a forest bordering the property of the warehouse, and a long ways away in the distance, a cloud of smoke rose above the trees. Dark smoke – smoke from a fire. It was far enough away that the police wouldn't have searched that part of the forest, too, or even noticed the column of smoke.

Not taking my eyes off it, I turned back and ran through the officers, grabbing my bike and driving off. I got a "vibe", looking at that column – a good one. Something about it seemed right.

I drove through back roads, biting my lip and making sure I was heading as close to the smoke as possible. I scratched the back of my neck nervously (it was a bad habit that Sam enjoyed making fun of), even driving a bit off-road until I could get no further. I had to walk the rest of the way through the forest, but I was a lot closer to the smoke than before.

Eventually, I found myself following a river. I came to the realization that _anything _could be causing the smoke – a rogue forest fire, a homeless person, even the Mandarin. But there was a feeling in my gut that I couldn't ignore. Maybe it was just hope. I didn't care.

And then there she was, just sitting there, staring off into space. _Sam. _

The wave of relief that swept over my body made me crumple to my knees, and I had to crawl the last few feet towards her. Even after all my inspirational mental pep-talks, I still couldn't believe that I had found her. "Sam!" I cried, and she started, turning towards me, hands out and on the defensive.

Then she saw who it was, and she burst into tears.

I reached out and pulled her into my chest, making soothing sounds in her ear. "Hey, hey. Shh. It's okay." I rocked her back and forth as sobs wracked her body, and she buried her face into my shirt. I started to take account of her injuries, and was horrified at what I found.

Her leg was most definitely broken, halfway between the knee and the ankle. A bit of the bone was visible, and her flesh was burned and bruised. Blood soaked her pant leg, and she was trembling like a leaf. Her skin was burning up and an unhealthy shade of white, most likely from blood loss. A large cut on her head was still oozing blood, and her hair was soaked and crusting with it. She seemed to be having trouble breathing, too, and I prodded her ribs gently with my fingers, trying to find the problem. There was a "crunchy" feeling under the skin – she had two broken ribs. I later noticed that she was missing a tooth, too.

I didn't let go of her, though; holding her to my chest, I let her cry. But it soon became obvious how much pain she was in; how every breath was agonizing. Her nose was running with blood, and she trembled uncontrollably in my arms.

"Sam, we need to get you to a hospital. Right now," I said, starting to get up, but she whimpered.

"No, no, please. Steve, just stay. Stay with me. For a few minutes. Just for . . . just for a few minutes," she said weakly, clutching onto my jacket. I sighed, resting her head on my shoulder.

"How many people died?" she asked, closing her eyes. Excluding the blood, she looked peaceful. As if she was sleeping. Or dead. _C'mon, Steve, stop thinking like that._

"Sam, I'm not going to tell you that," I said gently, unable to take my eyes off her and her sorry state.

"Tell me, Steve."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"I'm not going to argue with you. Not now. Not like this."

"Tell me how many people died, Steve. You know I'm going to Google it anyway when we get back to your place." _When we get back to your place. _I had to admit, that made my face flush a little bit.

I swallowed, trying to word it carefully. "Ten people died."

"How many deaths were _my_ fault?"

"You didn't kill anyone, Sam."

"Then how many died in the earthquake?"

I really didn't want to tell her, but if she was this persistent about it, then she had the right to know. ". . . Seven."

She let out a puff of air through her nose, nodding slightly and keeping her eyes closed while she pressed her lips together tightly. It appeared that she was taking it well. But I found out later – much later – that it had quite the mental and emotional effect on her.

"What about that Mandarin guy?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Is he gone?"

"Uh. No. He . . . he got away," I said, deciding that she didn't need to know about Nat's kidnapping. Not until she was better.

"Is everyone okay?"

"You aren't."

"That wasn't my question, Steve."

"Yeah, everyone's fine. Two new costumed 'heroes' showed up. Ant-Man and Wasp."

"Yeah. I saw them," she managed out, all her sentences short.

"What happened with you?" I couldn't help but ask, wanting to know how she had gotten so far away from Terra Street.

"I fell down the hill behind the warehouse," she kept her eyes closed while she spoke. "Fell in the river. Turned into water. It washed me down here. I . . . I couldn't feel any pain while I was water. Everything was just . . . washed away. But I very well couldn't let myself go all the way out to the Hudson, and then the ocean. I turned back to . . . back to normal . . . a few hours ago. Set up a fire," I looked at the makeshift pile of burning wood that she had constructed – it was the reason I had seen all that dark smoke. "I knew someone would come to investigate . . . investigate it. And I was cold."

"But your skin is burning, Sam. You're sweating buckets."

"Yeah, but I'm . . . I'm still . . ." she trailed off, her body slumping in my arms. My eyes widened in horror.

"Sam! Sam, wake up, please, don't-"

"I'm not dead, Steve," she opened her grey eyes a crack and afforded a weak smile. "Just . . . just in . . . in a lot of pain."

"I'm getting you to a hospital. Now," I said, holding her bridal-style and standing up.

"Will you stay with me, Steve?" she asked, opening her eyes again to look up at me. My heart stuttered in my chest as I began walking back towards my motorcycle, kicking out the fire.

"Of course," I said softly. "I'll be by your side."

"No . . . not by my side. Stay. Just stay."

"Okay . . . ?"

"It's a Miley Cyrus song."

"I thought you only listened to 'Led Zeppelin' and 'Pink Floyd'."

"No," she said, her voice soft as I treaded back the way I had come. "I listen to Florence & the Machine and Lana Del Rey, too. I'm also a fan of The Killers and The Pretty Reckless. Sometimes random things pop up, as well. Like that one Miley Cyrus song."

Considering I had never even heard of the people she was mentioning, I stayed silent. I couldn't take my eyes off Sam, though, making sure she was okay. I realized she probably wouldn't be able to ride on the back of my motorbike – she might pass out and fall off. Besides, it would look bad if I was driving around with a seriously injured girl, covered in blood and sweat and dirt. Walking her all the way to the hospital was out of the question.

I pulled out my iPhone, which was now a bit mangled - I had crushed it in my hand by accident. Fumbling with the screen, I speed-dialed Stark Tower, knowing that Clint was there and he would pick up the phone. I walked back towards the road with Sam still in my arms as Clint answered the phone with a grumpy "Wassup?" He had been sleeping, I think.

"Clint, I found Sam. I need you to come pick us up."

"Wait, what? Really?" his voice was a lot more alert now.

"Can you just get here? She needs to get to the hospital as soon as possible."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way," he hung up quickly. I looked down at Sam, who was floating between consciousness and sleep, blood still dripping out of her head and leg wounds. I briefly wondered if she would suffer any brain damage, but pushed the thought away. I didn't want to think like that.

I didn't have to wait long on the road for Clint to pull up in one of Tony's many cars. He jumped out and took Sam from me, gently laying her in the back seat. She groaned from the movement, but afforded a small "Heya, Clintie." I took shotgun as Agent Barton hoped into the driver's seat and sped off down the road, breaking a lot of speeding laws. Obviously, he had grasped how critical her condition was. I had been an idiot not to call for Clint right away.

"Well, she's looked better," he said to me, never taking his eyes off the road. "What'd you do, Cap?"

"What? Me? I didn't do anything!"

"I'm kidding," he rolled his eyes. "Man, you gotta learn to take a joke."

"This isn't exactly a _time _for jokes," I shot back.

"Well then, what are we supposed to talk about? The end of the world? Honestly, Cap, if you can't find a little light in the darkness then you've already lost the game."

At the hospital, the doctors in the ER got to work on her as soon as we got there, rushing around in organized chaos. "Code Black," Barton said to the head nurse, and she ran off in a panic, searching for a secluded room and more doctors.

"What's that mean?" I asked as they gently loaded Sam onto a stretcher; she had fully passed out by now, and I stayed by her side through the hospital.

"It means that it's a superhero who's been hurt," Clint shrugged. "We get special intensive care."

"Why?"

"Two reasons. Her power could make operating on her difficult, or it could make her condition even more fatal than it really is. Say, she had massive internal bleeding and impenetrable skin – how could the doctors operate on that?"

"She doesn't, though. What's number two?"

"Well, as horrible as it is, saving her life is going to do a lot more for the good of the country than, say, saving a random businessman's life," Clint said grimly.

We were kicked out of the room while they operated on her, much to my displeasure. I didn't want to leave Sam by herself; I had promised I would "stay" with her. I asked Clint if he knew the song, but he shook his head.

Seeing Sam in so much pain had hurt me, too. I had lost so much in life; I didn't want to lose something else. It especially bugged me that I couldn't do anything. That was the thing with me: No matter what, I was always going to fear losing those close to me.

Was _Sam_ close to me? Yes, of course. She was my sister; my best friend. That was when I thought back to her band concert, and my jealousy at seeing that Mark kid with his arm around her. It reminded me of my crushing feelings of relief when I found her alive, if just barely. The feeling I got when I held her, trying to convince her it was okay.

Sure, I may have been like a brother to Sam. But was it possible I wanted to be something . . . more?

_Yes, _I decided, staring at the closed hospital door. _Yes, it was quite possible. It was already happening. _

* * *

**Author's Note: There will be a rather interesting guest writing the next chapter. Or should I say . . . guest_s._**

**Hey, guys - it's Lexi again! I've really missed you all 3 sorry for the suddenly-inconsistent updates. My life has gone a bit off-track, and it looks like it will be that way for a few weeks :( I'll try to update when I can, but I'm really sorry everyone!**

**Thanks to my friend Sierra for updating the last chapter :D LOL YES I'LL BUY YOU SHAWARMA DON'T WORRY XD**

**I still haven't responded to reviews, and I'm really sorry for that, guys! D: I'll be able to do it tomorrow, when my life takes a short breather. I don't even have time to post this, actually O_o but I'll do it anyway! Thank you so, so much to everyone who is reviewing and sticking with me, even though I'm going through a rough patch (as is Sam!). I really appreciate all your words, even though I won't be able to respond to them till tomorrow. **

**Please review and tell me what you think of this chapter — I swear, I'll respond as soon as I can! Can we make it to 100 reviews? I'll update extra-fast if we can! :D THANK YOU GUYS ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT!**

**I love you and thank you all, and READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Lexi**


	7. Small Aquatic Birds

Bruce Banner's POV

_If it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, we have at least to consider the possibility that we have a small aquatic bird of the family anatidae on our hands.  
- Douglas Adams_

Hello, journal. I have to say, it's quite the, uh, honor to be chosen to write the new entry. The others seem to have been enjoying recording their words, so I'm excited to finally get a chance to try my hand at this. This chapter will start, I think, when I first arrived in New York City.

I always felt nervous in the city. Hell, I felt nervous in _any _city. The . . . Other Guy . . . well, he isn't very friendly. I'm sure you know who The Other Guy is – if you're reading this, then you probably have Level 7 S.H.I.E.L.D clearance.

People always ask me how I can possibly stand to be around the Avengers, which is a group of the most aggravating people I've ever met. I mean, they're alright – except Tony; he's rather agkldajfevdn

PERFECT AND AMAZING AND WONDERFUL AND

No Tony fuckysoualkfdsjfkaf give me backsalskjfd the jalskdfstupid

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH AND SECRETLY WISH I COULD BE HIM AND I AM JEALOUS OF

Tony stop itaklsdjjavlsdsdvfkla

HE IS THE ONLY AVENGER THAT MATTERS AND HE'S

lkfpowerh

uwieor

vxb

Tony Stark's POV

Okay, so, Banner's gone and hulked out. Dunno why. Honestly, I had nothing to do with it. Seriously. Don't believe anyone else if they tell you it's my fault. But it looks like I have the journal again! How awesome is that?

So anyway, I'll start just after Thor randomly decided to show up at Stark Tower. Everything was going swell until the big guy decided -

Steve Rogers' POV

Tony, Pepper just got a call from Bruce. He's out on a beach naked somewhere, and Pepper's going to bring him clothing and pick him up. I really think you should apologize.

Tony Stark's POV

No.

Besides, I didn't do anything.

Steve Rogers' POV

No, Tony, you messed up his journal writing. You were acting like your typical arrogantajsklfaaf

BEAUTIFUL AND WONDERFUL SELF.

Dammit Tonyadkljfad

Thor Odinson's POV

THESE HUMANS ARE SO PETTY AND TINY AND FIGHT OVER EVERYTHING. IT IS ENTERTAINING TO WATCH BUT IT ALSO SADDENS MY HEART TO SEE THEM SO ANGRY WITH THEIR BROTHERS. I MUST ADMIT THAT IT REMINDS ME OF LOKI AND MYSELF. SO I HAVE REMOVED THIS OBJECT OF TEMPTATION FROM THEIR PATHS.

HELLO MAGICAL MIDGARDIAN JOURNAL! I AM WRITING WITHIN YOU WITH ANOTHER MAGICAL APPLIANCE THAT THE MAN WITH EYES SIMILAR TO THOSE OF HAWKS TELLS ME IS CALLED A PEN. I AM THOR, SON OF ODIN, GOD OF THUNDER, SON OF-

Tony Stark's POV

Thor, for the love of bunnies, please stop writing in caps. We'll let you write so long as you _don't write in caps_! The little voice in my head is screaming at me whenever you write like that.

Thor Odinson's POV

WHAT ARE CAPS?

ARE YOU REFERRING TO THE GOOD CAPTAIN OF AMERICA? I HAVE HEARD OTHERS CALL STEVEN THIS EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE. I AM NOT CURRENTLY WITH STEVEN. HE IS – OH MY GOD. HIS HAND IS BLEEDING FROM WHERE THE MAN OF IRON STABBED IT WITH A KNIFE OF THE BUTTER. I MUST GO. MY BROTHER NEEDS ME.

Tony Stark's POV

Okay seriously Thor, Steve does not need your help. He is perfectly fine; he's a grown man; he can take care of himself – what the hell are you doing to his hand?

Thor Odinson's POV

THE WOMAN OF SILVER SHOWED ME A MOVIE ABOUT A FAIR MAIDEN WHO SINGS TO HEAL OTHERS. IT HAS INSPIRED ME BECAUSE HER FLOWING GOLDEN LOCKS ARE SIMILAR TO MY OWN, ALTHOUGH HER TRESSES ARE MUCH LONGER.

Samantha Silverman's POV

Yeah okay, so maybe I showed Thor Disney's _Tangled. _I swear though, I didn't think he'd go all Princess Rapunzel on poor Steve and start singing the magical healing song while he pressed his head and hair to Steve's wound.

Thor Odinson's POV

FLOWER GLEAM AND GLOW, LET YOUR POWERS SHINE. HEAL WHAT HAS BEEN HURT, CHANGE THE FATES' DESIGN.

WAIT, THIS IS REDICULOUS. ONE CANNOT CHANGE THE FATES' DESIGN. ONCE IT HAS BEEN WRITTEN, IT CAN NEVER BE CHANGED IN ANY WAY. WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?

Steve Rogers' POV

Can we all please stop fighting before Banner gets back, and hulks out again? And Thor, we promise to give you the journal so long as you write in small letters. Please?

Oh, and my hand is quite done with being tangled in your hair. It wasn't that big of a cut.

Natasha Romanoff's POV

If you guys don't do as Cap says, I'm going to have to take you all out and smack you around a bit before you destroy Stark Tower.

Tony Stark's POV

Too late.

Oh, and Natasha, I'm curious – what other colors do you have in your ledger?

Natasha Romanoff's POV

The whole fucking rainbow.

(None of your business)

Clint Barton's POV

I think we should make Steve watch _Lord of the Rings._

Natasha Romanoff's POV

What the _hell _does that have to do with anything?

Clint Barton's POV

I dunno, it could be a part of "Operation: Modernize Steve".

Tony Stark's POV

Is that what we're calling it now?

Clint Barton's POV

At least can we make it a part of "The Endless List of Movies Steve and Thor Must Watch"?

Tony Stark's POV

I like it. PEPPER, schedule a movie night for tomorrow.

Thor Odinson's POV

I AM PERPLEXED. WHAT IS GOING ON?

Pepper Potts' POV

Okay, that's it. You guys are finished. Sam, stop giggling at everyone and go buy some tea – Clint drank it all this morning, and I suspect he'll go into withdrawl if he doesn't get any more. Steve, you're coming clothes shopping with me. Tony – to your room! Clint and Natasha – wait, what the . . . where'd they go?

Banner's in lockdown in the lab right now. Tony, under NO CIRCUMSTANCE are you allowed to go see him. Thor . . . you may write in the journal, so long as you don't use any big letters.

Thor Odinson's POV

you mean like this is this okay should i write everything with tiny human letters i do not like this

Tony Stark's POV

That's it. We're doomed.

PEPPER, we need a grammar lesson over here.

Thor Odinson's POV

I AM BACK.

Firstly, I must thank Pepper of the Cooking Utensils for giving me a lesson on Midgardian grammar and spelling. It has expanded my mind in ways that even my father cannot imagine.

I must say, I am honored to be chosen for the job of writing in the magical journal. The Man of Iron, the Captain of America and the Woman of Silver always seem to love writing in it, so to have it in my own hands means a lot. I am a God, after all, and it has taken them long enough to realize I have things to say! Important, life-alerting things!

Going through previous chapters, it is glaringly obvious to my sore eyes that no one knows where to start their story. For me, it is simple — I shall start when I arrived on Midgard.

My father Odin sent me down from Asgard (and this time, it wasn't to teach me a lesson). He had heard whispers from the other gods that there was an outcry of Avengers Assemble — and since I am an Avenger, I had to assemble.

I landed in the big green park in the New City of York. I like that park. It has become my favorite spot in town. I love the richness and diversity of the people and children; the colors of the trees and grass; the activities and ice-scream cones everywhere. And I especially love the quacks.

When I first touched down, it was right in the middle of a pond, and I startled a family of quacks. They scattered in every direction, but one poor little creature swam right into my foot. I reached down and scooped it up, holding the tiny thing close to my face. It had brown and yellow fur, and was struggling against me; I grasped it gently, petting it. "Hush, little babe. I am not going to do you harm," I murmured, getting a strange look from a puny human passing by.

I looked down to find that all the other quacks had disappeared. "Your family has left you," I said to the tiny one in my hand, which was chirping more than it was quacking. "I shall be your new father!"

I plodded out of the pond with the quack in my hands, as it continued to struggle against me. "Hush, little one!" I made sure not to crush it in my grasp. "You need a name, do you not?" As I walked out of the Park on the Center, I looked around for a possible name for my new babe. It was then that I spotted a sign for something called "Shakespeare in the Park." People were lining up to buy tickets for it, and I couldn't help but think of the time Iron Man had accused _me_ of being "Shakespeare in the park." I didn't know what it was, but I liked it.

"Little quack, you are now Shakespeare, Son of Thor!" crooned to the creature in my hands. A warm, smelly yellow substance suddenly blossomed in my palms, and I laughed. "You are leaking! Let me get you to The Tower of Stark so you can be cleaned up," I chuckled.

I didn't bother to knock at the Tower. Instead, JARVIS let me right in, and I rode the elevator straight to the penthouse. I do not like elevators. They take too long, and the music playing in them is always terrible. Midgardians have the worst taste in music. None of it ever speaks to your soul; makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time, like Asgardian music.

In the penthouse, I first ran into The Man with Eyes Similar to Those of Hawks, who was standing in the kitchen. He gaped open-mouthed at me, almost dropping the tea in his hand.

I nodded at the human and walked through to the back, where I could hear voices. The One of American Heritage and The Man of Iron were arguing over something, while Samantha Silverwoman sat in a chair in a corner, looking gloomy. There was a large white cast on her leg, and another white bandage wrapped around her head.

"Hello, brothers!" I bellowed, bursting into the room. Silverwoman screamed, and the other two humans both jumped. I went to hug them, but was stopped by Silverwoman's accusation.

"Thor? Are you holding a . . . a _duckling_?"

"This is Shakespeare Thorson," I held him out, displaying my chirping baby proudly for everyone to see. "I found him in the Park of the Center."

"Oh dear God," Silverwoman gasped.

"Yes? I'm right here," I raised my eyebrows.

"Okay, Thor, buddy, it's great to see you, but your duckling needs to go back to the park," The One of Iron spoke as if talking to a child.

"No. He is staying with me," I held the quack protectively.

The Hawk Man, who had followed me into the room, now stood in front of me. "Thor, give me, uh, Shakespeare. I'll take care of him."

"He needs a bath while I talk with my brothers," I said. "He started leaking while I was in the park."

"I know. I can smell it," he scrunched up his nose, and I passed him the struggling quack. The Hawk turned and walked out of the room, shaking his head.

There was a long, awkward pause. "So, uh, what brings you back here?" The Good Captain of America finally asked.

"I was told to assemble," I crossed my arms over my chest. "Is there a new threat? Surely it's not Loki. Maybe one of his partners?"

"What do you mean?" The Man of Iron furrowed his brow.

"While on Asgard, I discovered the fact that Loki was not working alone," my voice dropped a pitch. "There are others with the same goals as him."

My human brothers exchanged a glance. "You think _that's _who the Mandarin was working with?" The Captain of America frowned.

"Who, pray tell, is the Mandarin?"

The Man of Iron launched into a long explanation of another human who called himself the Mandarin, with the power of ten rings. Apparently, the "Terror of Terra" had happened four days ago. In that time, Samantha Silverwoman had been to the hospital and then returned to the Tower of Stark just this morning; the Black Widow was still missing; and they had no leads whatsoever.

"Then there's that Ant-Man and Wasp," The Man of Iron shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. "Clint says they're a friend, but they could still be a foe. All we know about them is that Wasp can enlarge her size and reduce it. That's it."

"There's also the fact that both Clint and I were surrounded by working ants at some point," Silverwoman cut in. "Maybe Ant-Man can control ants, or something," she snorted.

"It's a possibility we can't rule out," the Captain said stiffly, looking down at her as she swung her crutches back and forth, bored.

"What bugs me most is that after all this time, we still have no lead," The Man of Iron gritted his teeth. "I really wish Nat would stop acting so proud and hit that emergency button we gave her." The Man with Hawk Eyes walked back into the room then, handing Silverwoman a mug of tea. I think I was the only one to notice The Good Captain looking on jealously.

It started to rain outside, and water pelted the windows as we stood together, unsure of our next move. The Man of Iron decided to show me the footage of the hostages, and so we all headed into the living room, turning on the magical appliance called the "television". Silverwoman could barely watch the moving pictures displayed, and instead spent the time cuddling up next to the Captain, her eyes squeezed shut as he comfortingly held her hand.

I was horrified to watch the footage, to say the least, but disappointed for two reasons. For one, I did not recognize the Mandarin, and for another, I didn't recognize the alien rings he was using.

Good thing there was someone else who did.

Two people arrived in the penthouse via elevator. One was a short woman with black hair, introduced as Janet Van Dyne; the other, her husband, a square-jawed man with blonde hair who went by the name of Hank Pym.

"You can't be here right now," Tony said hastily, getting off the couch to deal with the intruders. "Seriously. We're kind of in the middle of a crisis."

"I have information about the Mandarin's rings," it was Hank Pym who spoke.

". . . . . . . Welcome to Stark Tower. Let me introduce you to my colleagues — me, the greatest person you will ever meet; Agent Clint Barton, who you already know; Samantha Silverman, who you briefly met; Captain Steven Rogers; and Thor Odinson." There was a loud quack from the kitchen sink. "Oh, and let's not forget Shakespeare Thorson, the duckling." I grinned.

"Welcome! Any friend of The Man of Iron's is a friend of mind," I boomed, reaching forward to grasp their hands and shake them vigorously. Janet Van Dyne looked terrified of me, but Hank Pym just smiled. "He neglected to mention this, but I am also the Son of Odin and God of Thunder."

"I hope I'm not delving into government secrets, but Steven . . . are you Captain America?" Hank Pym looked at me oddly and then turned to face the Captain. "We already sort of know the identities of the rest of the Avengers."

The Captain of America nodded reluctantly, but Silverwoman held out her hands. "Wait, what?"

"It was a fluke," The Man of Iron quickly explained. "It slipped out."

"Oh," was all she said.

"It's an honor to meet you, Captain," Hank Pym shook his hand, smiling as the Captain did his awkward neck-scratching thing.

"Hank, what were you saying about the Mandarin's rings?" The Man of Iron brought the conversation back around.

"Well, I've been doing some extensive research of my own," he explained, opening a file that he had brought. "The Mandarin is a man well-trained in martial arts, who got the rings when he found a crashed Makluan alien space ship. He stole the rings from the driver, and-"

"Wait, our foe is a human with Makluan rings?" I cut in, my eyebrows furrowed.

"Apparently," the Captain responded, leaning over the files. "What can you tell us about the Makluans, Thor?"

"They look like what you humans call 'dregons'."

"That's not a word, Thor," Silverwoman crossed her arms over her chest, sounding annoyed.

"He means 'dragons'," Hank Pym interrupted. "The Mandarin's hands have turned green and scaly, like a Makluan's, because he's worn the rings for so long."

"Yes. They are generally a peaceful race, but very powerful. Does the Mandarin have possession of all ten power rings?" said I.

Hank Pym nodded. "Let me break it down for you," he flipped through more pages in his file. "The Ice Blast ring is first. It can emit waves of intense cold and ice."

"He froze me into unconsciousness the first time I met him," Silverwoman shuddered, a haunted look in her eyes. The Captain put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him as if protecting her.

"Ring number two: Mento-Intensifier," Janet Van Dyne read off another sheet. "Judging by the media's video clips, he hasn't used this one yet. It allows him to mentally manipulate or paralyze the thoughts or actions of others, or to create illusions in the mind that can trick _all_ the senses." She flipped to another page. "The Electro-Blast ring is simple enough; with it, he can emit waves of electrical energy."

"Flame-Blast looks to be similar to Sam's own powers over the element," Eyes of Hawks, who was now standing behind the couch, read over Janet Van Dyne's shoulder. "He can spontaneously ignite things."

"The White Light ring is especially dangerous," Hank Pym took control of the conversation again, and I sunk into a seat beside Janet Van Dyne. "It has four functions: light burst, gravity field, magnetic levitation and image projection."

"Let me guess: there's a Black Light ring that creates a pocket of complete darkness," The Man of the Hawks added.

"Yes. Another ring is the-"

"Wait, wait," The Man of Iron interrupted, holding up his hands to stop the torrent of words. "How do you know all this? Where the hell are you getting your information? I trust you, Hank — we've been friends for years — and so far, everything has been making sense. But where did you learn all this?"

"Observation."

"That's impossible. I was _there_ and I couldn't figure out half this stuff."

"Research."

"I've been searching the Internet for _days_, and haven't come up with any of this!"

"Ah, that's where you've gone wrong," Hank Pym shook his finger at his friend. "I went to the library, Anthony. It's a marvelous place. You should try it sometime."

"They have an old Chinese history book there," Janet Van Dyne elaborated. "It had a bit of information about the Makluans in it. Their ship crash-landed in China, after all. It's just a very well-kept secret. You see, the Mandarin was the one who broke into the crashed ship and took the rings from the dead pilot on board. All this was recorded by Chinese scientist and government agents – it was quite similar to what America would do."

The Man of Iron didn't seem entirely satisfied with this answer, but waved Hank Pym on. "Disintegration Beam: destroys the bonds between atoms and molecules. Leaves no effect on the system if the disintegration is not fully completed. Must recharge every 30 minutes."

"Wait, how you would know that?" the Man of the Hawks narrowed his eyes.

"I watched the news."

"No, the part about 'effects on the system'."

". . . It's like I said. Research and . . . observation," Hank Pym blew it off as if it was no big deal, but wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

"Vortex Beam Ring," Janet Van Dyne read another loose paper. "Causes air to move at high speed in a vortex. Can you do that, Sam?" she looked up at the young blonde.

"Um . . . I guess. If I tried, then yeah, probably," she responded, obviously uncomfortable with talking to an unknown woman about her secret powers.

"The Impact Beam Ring seemed to be the Mandarin's favorite," Hank Pym went on. "You know, the concussive force one that kept slamming people around. It can do so with sonic waves, too — sound. The last is the Matter-Rearranger Ring. Not only can it change his appearance, but it can poison or solidify air. Basically, it manipulates the atomic and molecular structures of matter."

"Wow. This guy packs a real punch," the Captain said while Hank Pym took a breather. "We can't underestimate him; he sounds really formidable."

The Man of Iron put his chin in his hands. "That's a lot of power for once guy — especially for one on the bad guys' side. He teleports, too. And he might have allies."

"Do you think he could be working with Loki?" I asked. He shrugged, and told me he had no clue whatsoever.

Our small group split up then, the meeting adjourned. Hank Pym and Janet Van Dyne headed to the research lab with Hawk Man following, since they wanted to figure out how to track down Black Widow. I walked back towards the kitchen, where Shakespeare was swimming in the sink.

"Tony? Stevie? Can I ask you guys a question?" Silverwoman suddenly said.

"Since when is he 'Stevie'?" the Man of Iron scrunched up his nose and I rooted through the refrigerator for some food for Shakespeare.

Both Steven and Silverwoman sighed. "Can we go camping this weekend?" she asked, getting straight to the point.

"Um, are you sure that's a good idea?" Steven asked, leaning away so he could look at her better. "We're dealing with an Avenger-level crisis, and you want to go camping."

"Yeah, uh, no. We have stuff to do here. Like find Nat," the Man of Iron agreed.

"CAN WE PLEASE FUCKING GO CAMPING THIS WEEKEND?" Sam unexpectedly yelled, distraught over something. Iron Man jumped in fear, and even the Captain of America didn't know what to make of her outburst.

Silverwoman looked like she was going to cry. "I just . . . I just really need to get out of the city for a bit. Please. Honestly, I'm begging you."

"But your leg . . ." the Captain trailed off.

"You know, maybe you're right," Iron Man said after a long moment of stunned silence. "I can go with you. But Rogers should say - he's the leader of the Avengers."

"What?" the Captain looked like he had just been hit in the head by Mjolnir.

"You're the super soldier with super speed and super strength," Iron Man said in an obvious tone.

"You're more apt in the ways of today - you understand how the world works. _You _should lead the Avengers," the Captain said in what Silverwoman would call a "snappy" tone.

"Yeah well, you're genetically engineered perfection!"

_"You're a genius, billionaire, playboy philantrophist!"_

"YOU KNOW HOW TO LEAD FUCKING SOLDIERS INTO BATTLE!"

"_YOU CAN WORK A TOASTER!_"

". . . . . Touché."

"Why does it matter?" Silverwoman cut in. "The Avengers isn't _Captain America and Iron Man, Feat. Other People. _We have Thor and Clint, and Bruce is on his way," she crossed her arms over her chest. "I think it's time you two stepped out of the spotlight, even if only for a moment. The others need to take control, too. Besides: it's the _Avengers. _Nick Fury called on us to work together, not for you two to take control of everything."

Rogers looked offended, but the Man of Iron actually seemed to be considering her words. ". . . You're right," he nodded grudgingly. "Weneed to clear our heads. Especially you, Sam. You've been through a lot. We'll camp somewhere nearby, just in case we're needed," he sounded like he was trying to convince himself it was a good idea. "And we'll be on high alert at all times. It's not like five new leads are suddenly going to spring up while we're gone," he finished.

"Doctor Banner will be here by then," Steven added, "so we'll have Thor, the Hulk and Hawkeye all here to hold down the fort. It's not like Sam's going to be fighting anyway, not on that leg. But I don't lead people around like you're implying, Sam-"

"Why camping, though?" he was cut off by the Man of Iron, who cocked his head to the side.

"I used to be a Girl Scout," Silverwoman blushed. "I wanted to try camping again. Besides, Tony, you don't seem like the type to usually rough it," she smiled cheekily. "And Steve told me he was too . . . weak . . . and skinny . . . to join the Boy Scouts. So neither of you have ever had any real camping experience before." The Man of Iron and Steven exchanged a glance.

"Yeah, whatever, fine. We'll go camping," Iron Man grumbled, and Silverwoman leaned forward to hug him.

"Thank you thank you thank you. Thanks so much. I just . . . really need to get away from everything. Just for a bit," she sighed sadly as she hugged Steven. He wrapped his arms around her too, pulling her close as she grabbed the television remote.

"Let's see what the media has to say about the press conference a few days ago, shall we?" she flipped the television on as the Man of Iron headed back towards his lab.

I glanced down at Shakespeare, swimming and chirping in the sink. Sighing, I lifted the baby quack out gently.

"You have already begun to bore me," I mumbled just loud enough for him to hear. "Come on. Let's go back home. To your Park of the Center." And with that, I walked out the door.

* * *

**Author's Note: OKAY DON'T SPAZZ AT ME FOR EVERYONE BEING REALLY OOC LOL. I WAS TIRED WHEN I WROTE THIS. AND I KNOW EVERYONE IS ACTING WEIRD. SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO POINT IT OUT :P But yeah, I'm aware this whole chapter is just like ". . . dafuq did I just read?" Anyway, I have a few things to say:**

**1) Sorry Thor is so random with the duckling :3 I had the urge.**

**2) Hopefully you'll forgive my strange "journal writing" at the beginning. I know they wouldn't actually put that all down on paper, but oh well.**

**3) For the most part, this was inspired by the tumblr "Thor, Put Your Pants Back On." Or "Avengers Shouldn't Text." I'm not really sure what name they go by, but they're a tumblr, uh, page-thingy.**

**4) YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW TIRING IT IS TO WRITE THOR. I kinda gave up halfway through. Sorry for that :3**

**5) Yes, yes, I know! It's stupid that they're going "camping" blah blah blah totally immature they wouldn't actually do that etc. I know. But I'm doing it to move along the story, on two different sides. Let me give you a hint - Natasha Romanoff and the baddies will make a reappearance soon. And yes, "baddies" is plural ;) AND, there will be some romance stuff going down. Sort of. ANYWAY. I know it's OOC. But I'm trying to get the plot moving.**

**I don't own anything. Except Sam, I guess :3 Remember to check out the website for pictures: lexiblazefanfiction . webs . com (you have to remove the spaces AND TYPE IT INTO THE URL BAR. Google won't work).**

**Thank you to everyone who is reading this, and extra thanks to the reviewers! :D WE MADE IT TO 100 REVIEWS GUYS - THANK YOU ALL SO, SO MUCH! I could never have asked for better readers - seriously, this is huge. I can't believe it, and thankyouthankyouthankyou :) Special thanks to _Lady Firewing,_ because I forgot to include her in one of my thank you lists! I'm so sorry :( Anyway, thank you to the reviewers of the last three chapters: _HannajimaShields, Astrokinetic, TheGirlThatIsBorderLineCrazy , A Contradiction, 16, tribute14, Lady Firewing, Little Weasley Girl, TA-twinArmageddons, Guest, WhatTheF-HaveUDoneLately-Cross, Cresta83, Lane Fields, .fire, alyykatt13, ClarinetRox88, Star Viky, Tbonechick2011, Comiccrazygothgirl, samlily41, brandibuckeye, Laurafxox, Selvet, goofygurly13,_ and Wolf_ Eared Girl. _You guys mean the world to me! :D**

**Please review, guys, and I'll respond if I can! I LOVE YOU ALL, AND THANK YOU SO MUCH! **

**READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Alexa**


	8. Soon or Late

Tony Stark's POV

_Every one soon or late comes round by Rome._

_- Robert Browning Hamilton_

I'm still not entirely sure why I agreed to go "camping".

For one, I had never been camping in a tent in my entire life, and I didn't exactly want to go now. And then there was the not-so-important issue of the Mandarin and Natasha's kidnapping.

But something about Sam seemed . . . off. It was almost as if she was unsure of herself, and yet, it was something bigger than that. Ever since dear old Steve had rescued her, Sam had seemed distracted; off-kilter. Broken.

She was right about one thing, though. We had no leads. Absolutely nothing. And only so many people could do Makluan research at a time. We had Hawkeye, Thor and the Hulk (Bruce Banner was supposed to arrive at Stark Tower while we were away) holding down the fort; and besides, I had brought my Iron Man suit. If there really was a crisis, we'd be on our way in no time.

I do have to admit that it was nice to get away from the bustle of the city for a while; from the press and from S.H.I.E.L.D. Although I wasn't exactly a nature boy, I could appreciate the sudden quietness once we had gotten out to the campsite.

There were other people there, too, in RVs and tents, but no one payed us any attention. Steve, of course, was looking around in that strange blank way of his. Once again, everything was new to him — it was his first time camping, too.

I pulled up onto our campsite in the car, parking and banging on the horn. "We're here!" I sang.

Sam glowered at me. "No need to announce it to the world," she shook her head. Because of her broken leg, Sam had gotten to sit up front with me; Uncle Sam was kicked to the back. That gave Sam and I complete control over the radio, and we had listened to Pink Floyd all the way (much to Steve's displeasure).

I'll admit it: if Sam hadn't been a Girl Scout when she was younger, we would have gotten nothing done. Instead, she sat in a fold-up chair under a tree and directed us around. I really, really didn't like that, but her broken leg excuse was pretty valid.

Steve and I had to set up the tent and the tarp (to cover our makeshift kitchen) all by ourselves. It wasn't fun. At all. I think a few punches may have even been thrown. But I'll spare you the details of how I so gloriously took down Captain America. If he tells you that I was the one rolling on the ground in pain . . . don't believe him.

It took us two hours to set up our tent. _Two hours_. It was a four-person tent; apparently it shouldn't have taken us any longer than half an hour. Sam even told us she could get it set up all by herself in _twenty _minutes. But since she wasn't helping, well . . .

The tarp was even more of a disaster. We tried attaching three of the four corners to trees, and sticking a pole up to hold the last corner. After Steve got hit in the head with said pole — for the third time — Sam hoisted herself out of her seat and limped towards us on her crutches.

"You guys are painful to watch," she frowned, smacking me on the leg with a crutch. "Honestly, Tony, you can do all that science-y stuff, but you can't tarp. What is _wrong_ with you?"

"Hey, hey, at least what I do helps humanity," I shot back, and she rolled her eyes.

"Steve, climb that tree and double knot the tarp as high as you can. Tony, do the same on that other tree, but make sure it's lower than Stevie's knot. I'll do the last corner, and then we'll work with than damn pole."

"AHA!" I cried, pointing my finger at her. "There it is again! You called him Stevie again!"

"What? No, I said Steve," Sam stuttered, but she was blushing a deep red.

"You said Stevie. Does he call you Sammy now? Because you know that's _my_ nickname for you."

Sam stuck her tongue out at me, turning her back and limping towards her corner of the tarp. "Oh. Real mature. Just walk away from your problems," I shouted after her.

"You're the one who can't tarp!"

I had noticed that throughout the whole exchange, Steve had purposefully ignored us and concentrated _way too hard_ on his tree-climbing and knots. Yet, he was blushing slightly.

Ever since he had come back from the hospital with Sam, he had been acting different around her. Totally incompetent and unable to form coherent sentences. It was as if he was nervous around her, or something. And I know exactly what was going on.

Stevie had developed a crush on Sammy. How cute.

But seriously — it was hilarious. Back when they were just friends, everything had been normal. Now, though, Steve acted like a complete and utter idiot. Captain America may not be afraid of anything, but Steve Rogers' kryptonite was undoubtedly women. He could face an entire army alone with just a single shield, but he was terrified and struck speechless of a single female.

Heh, heh. Those were good. I should remember to say them to his face sometime.

It was especially funny because Sam had friend-zoned him. Er, sibling-zoned. She liked to claim that he was like a "brother" to her. And I got to be the dysfunctional dad. While that gave me a (small) sense of responsibility and pride, I still wasn't going to go around changing diapers or anything.

After we finished up with our respective trees, I held the pole on the last corner while Sam pegged it into the ground with rope. Steve tried to make himself look busy by cleaning up the campsite, but failed miserably.

Sam set up the kitchen by herself then, deeming both Steve and I too incompetent to be able to set up a folding table. She was probably right, and I wasn't about to go and try to prove her wrong. Honestly, I was comfortable just sitting in my folding chair, admiring our (her) work.

By the time our entire campsite was set up, it was dark out, and quite late. The site now consisted of three tables, one camp stove, and three fold-up chairs. Over all that was our beautiful blue tarp; off on the other side of the lot were a fire pit and the tent.

If it had been anyone else, I would have slept in the car. But this was Sam I was camping with, and so I reluctantly agreed to set up a sleeping bag in the tent. I slept on the edge, with Sam in the middle, and Steve on the other edge. There was lots of space in the tent, thank God, so I didn't have to be squished right up to either of them.

Steve went to sleep right away, but Sam and I stayed up for another hour or so, playing cards by the light of a flashlight. Once we knew Steve was sound asleep, we began talking in harsh whispers. Well, there was more arguing being done than talking, but we were still spending quality time together nonetheless. And I was right — there _was_ something off about Sam. She was acting a bit more out-there; more angry and prone to snapping. She seemed unstable, and her moods kept changing. Maybe she was on her period.

Eventually we both dozed off, after putting the cards away and exchanging a few insults. I didn't sleep well that night — the ground hurt my back and it was too damn cold — but I gritted my teeth and pulled through. I'd been through worse.

When we woke up in the morning, Steve was gone. Sam started freaking out, stumbling out of the tent in a panic. He wasn't on the campsite, but she couldn't very well go running around looking for him, because of her leg.

"Tony, can you go find Steve? Please?"

"Why?"

"Uh, because he's _missing_," she said in a _duh_ voice.

"He's a big kid, Sammy. He can take care of himself. I'm sure he's just in the washroom." I peered closer at her, taking in her disheveled and unraveled appearance. "I think it's _you_ I should be worried about. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam said, the words rushing out of her mouth. "But if Steve's not back in ten minutes . . ." she threatened.

Sam stuck a large pile of wood in the fire pit. She just chucked it in, not even bothering to make sure the pieces fell in properly; some bounced out, and others snapped in two.

"Uh, okay, I'm not exactly the expert here," I admitted, "but aren't you supposed to make, like, a teepee shape or something?"

In response, she lifted her hand and ignited the entire pile. "I don't care. I have my superpower; we don't need to properly build a fire," she crossed her arms over her chest, challenging me. I held up my hands in defense.

Steve finally ran up then. He was sweating profusely. Great. Just great. Didn't the big oaf realize there were no showers here, and we still had to spend another night in the tent together? Honestly, some people have no respect for others.

"Where _were_ you?" Sam demanded right away. She bent down and picked up a piece of wood, chucking it at him angrily. Steve ducked, and it narrowly missed his head.

Standing up slowly, there was that little crease he got between his eyebrows when he was perplexed. ". . . Sorry. I went for a run," he said guiltily, as if he had done something wrong.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to calm herself as she flattened her frizzy hair with her hands. "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have freaked."

"It's . . . okay," Steve said slowly, giving her a wide birth as he grabbed his fold-up chair and dragged it over to the fire, where Sam and I were already sitting.

She got up, scratching her leg just above where the cast started. "I'm going to put some water on to boil so that we can have tea and start breakfast, okay?"

"What're we having?" I asked obnoxiously.

"Your mom's chest hair," she shot back, but then slapped both hands over her mouth. "Oh, my god. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that."

I rolled my eyes. "What is _up_ with you today?"

Sam blinked rapidly. "I don't know. Just tired, I guess. It's been a long, stressful week."

She broke while trying to light the stove.

It was supposed to be an easy job, I think — turn on the gas and hold the lighter up to the element, then BAM insta-flame. She could've probably done it with her powers, too. But as I've said, she was "off". And after multiple tries of not being able to light the stove, she burst into tears.

"Oh my god, what's wrong?" Steve reacted before I even knew what was going on. "Are you okay? Did you get hurt? What happened?" he jumped to his feet.

"This FUCKING stove is so goddamn FRUSTRATING," she pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. "It can GO TO HELL!"

"It's a stove, Sammy," I rolled my eyes again.

"A FUCKING stove," she rocked back and forth on her feet. Steve was there now, hugging her, trying to calm her down. He attempted to wipe the tears from her cheeks, but she slapped his hands away.

"Leave me alone!" she grumbled, pushing against his chest, and he let go immediately, looking hurt. Sam didn't even notice, though, and turned away from him instead.

"Okay, Sam, what the hell is going on?" I snapped, standing up. "I've had enough of your bullshit."

"Tony!" Steve said sharply, giving me a look. I ignored him. Sam was like me, so I was giving her what I would have needed if I was in her situation — a brutal dose of reality.

It seemed to work. She took a deep breath, wiped away the last tears, and then pushed past Steve so she could hobble over to her seat. "I'm sorry I'm being such an ass," she apologized. "I shouldn't have snapped at you guys. And Steve, I'm sorry I threw that piece of wood at your head. And about pushing you away," she said sheepishly.

"It's . . . it's alright," he mumbled softly, still a bit shocked. I mean, someone turning down Captain America's help and condolences? _Unheard of._

"I just . . . I don't know," she shrugged. "I'm tired and hungry. I feel like a piece of shit. This week started so happily — I was supposed to spend it with Steve," she sniffed, "and then the Mandarin happened. And now I have two broken ribs, a broken leg, and a migraine," she touched the bandage on her head. "Oh, and let's not forget the trouble breathing," she grumbled. "And the tooth that the dentist had to replace. Plus, I feel drained of energy. As if I'm . . . useless," she shrugged again. "I killed SEVEN PEOPLE. _SEVEN_. You know how that makes me feel?"

Steve and I both stayed quiet for once.

"But never mind. This was supposed to be a fun weekend," Sam ran her fingers through her greasy hair. "I'm ruining it for you guys."

"Don't worry about it," I said. "Honestly, Sammy? If you have anything you ever need to say, come talk to one of us. We'll be here, and it would be terrible to keep something bottled up. Besides, I like playing Doctor Phil."

"I don't get it."

"Just stay out of this, Steve," I rolled my eyes, and Sam actually laughed.

We got the stove working then, and made some tea. Breakfast came soon afterwards, in the form of egg McMuffins. Sam and I were horrified to find that Steve had never had the original McMuffin (the one from McDonalds), and we vowed to take him after this camping trip.

We went for a walk after breakfast. It was a long, long walk, although we hadn't planned on it. We had gotten lost, that was all. It was my fault, too — I was the one who had led the group.

By the time we got back to the campsite, it was late in the afternoon. "Steven, dear, go get us some water, will you?" I asked in a fake-sweet voice, holding out our empty drinking-water jug. He sighed, but took the jug and headed down the road anyway.

"Okay. Now tell me what's _really _wrong," I said, once Steve was out of earshot.

"I did," Sam responded, her eyes closed as she sat by the fire.

"No, I mean really. Don't give me any more crap this time."

There was a long pause, before she finally spoke. "I'm not liking where my future is going."

"Elaborate?"

"When I . . . when I killed those p-people, it made me realize something. As much as I may love you guys, I still don't want to be a superhero. I want to have a normal life with a normal career and grow up to have a normal family."

"Why? That sounds so boring."

"I know," she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "That's the point. I don't like all this action. What I really want in life is to move to freaking Rome and become an archaeologist. That's what would _really_ make me happy."

"So why don't you?" I asked, confused as to why it was so complex.

"One reason, and one reason only, Tony: I don't have enough money. I took the entrance exam just for fun, and they accepted me. But I can't afford the tuition, and I can't afford to live in Rome, Italy."

"Actually."

"Actually what?"

"You're actually talking to _me_ about money problems?"

She peeked open an eyelid to look up at me in confusion, although her expression read "go on".

"Sam, you should've just come to me. I'd be glad to pay for you to go to school in Rome. Honestly, I'm like your dad, am I not? And I'm a billionaire, not to mention genius, playboy, and philanthropist."

"Wait, really? You'd legitimately pay for me to go to school in Rome?" the disbelief in her voice was astounding.

"Why not?"

"Can you do it, Tony? When we get back, can you get me into the university?"

"Sure."

"Oh my God, Tony, I love you," she leaped out of her chair so she could hug me tightly. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Seriously, thank you _so much. _I cannot put into words how grateful I am," she gushed as I hugged her back. "This is — this is amazing. It more than makes up for that ugly car you gave me as a birthday present."

"Hey! I liked that car!" I said indignantly, and she laughed.

"Well, it's nice to see you two getting along for once," a voice said, and we turned to find Steve staring at us, the water jug in his hands.

Sam brightened, getting up to teach him how to use the stove to put water on to boil. All of a sudden, her mood had improved by a _ton_. She was practically glowing now.

Who would've known that all it would take was a chance to become an archaeologist?

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey, guys. I'm going to have to make this quick. **

**Anyway, this was part 1 of camping, and then Natasha will get a POV ;) Sorry for the slow updates, by the way. **

**I sadly cannot respond to reviews at this point in time. I might get lucky and be able to respond before the end of the week, but no promises :( I'll respond eventually, I just can't now. Sorry! Please remember that I really do appreciate every word you guys give me, and all the overwhelming and AMAZING feedback. Thank you all so, so much for your support :) I couldn't have asked for better readers. **

**As always, special thanks (and a cookie!) to:_ 16, Lady Firewing, Guest, WhatTheF-HaveUDoneLately-Cross, LunaTheLoneWolf, StarViky, Comiccrazygothgirl, xKirixKurox, HannajimaShields, A Contradiction, tribute14, Laurafxox, brandibuckeye, Chester-Grey, forever21lupus, Lane Fields, TA-twinArmageddons_ and _ClarinetRox88!_ Thanks for being such woderful reviewers :D I sincerely hope to hear from you all again!**

**Please review and tell me what you think :3 READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Lexi**


	9. Awkward and Heavenly

Samantha Silverman's POV

_First dates are awkward, first kisses are heavenly, first love is irreplaceable and first heartbreaks are unforgettable._

_- Unknown_

I did indeed feel like a mess. And yes, Tony, I was acting off. But as I told you — I had had a tough week. And I was starting to regret my choice of becoming a superhero.

Although I didn't _act_ like I was enjoying it, I found the camping fun. Tony was being a lazy ass, of course, but Steve was actually trying to help.

Ahh, Steve. Where to start with that man?

I felt really, really terrible about pushing him away while I was crying. He had honestly been trying to help; he was the only one who ever tried to help. And my reaction had been to flip shit.

Recently, Steve had been acting strange. A little more shy; a little more reluctant. He was more awkward, for sure. I didn't know why, and it was bugging me. Not in that "urgh I just want to punch him" sort of way, but in that "I wonder what's going on?" way.

I think things changed between us when he rescued me from the forest. I could hardly remember that day — I had been in so much pain — but I remembered Steve. _He_ was the one who had found me; _he _was the one who had taken care of me and stayed by my side. It was _always_ Steve, my super soldier.

Ever since then, Steve had been acting weird — and so had I, I guess. I had developed a little crush on him a while ago, actually, but only now was it really starting to become more . . . prominent.

It would've been hard for _anyone_ to ignore growing feelings for him. Not only was he like a brother, a best friend, and a protector all rolled in one; he generally cared about me. And I didn't have any secrets from him. While I couldn't tell my best friend I was Masquerade, Steve knew _everything_.

He listened to all my rants, whether or not I was the good guy or the bad guy in the fight. He offered advice when I had problems. He held my hand when I was scared; took care of me when I wasn't feeling my best. Steve didn't care what I looked like, either, and I could go makeup-free around him, which was a nice change from the society of today.

After spending all those days in Chicago with him, and then that week living in close quarters, it would've been difficult to _not_ start liking him.

And that was just the tip of the iceberg. He was also Captain freaking America — noble, serious, brave, kind, just, yadda yadda yadda. I looked up to Steve not only when he was, well, Steve, but also when he was Cap. He was a mentor and an inspiration to me (and only three years older!).

I taught Steve how to use the Coleman stove. Once he had it I glanced over at Tony, but his back was to us as he stared into my makeshift fire. I took advantage of that and slowly slid my arms around Steve, hugging him.

"I'm sorry I pushed you away earlier today," I mumbled, my eyes on the ground. An ant crawled across my shoe.

Steve was standing straight, as if he had a ramrod up his back. "It's alright," he said stiffly, unmoving. See what I meant about his awkwardness?

"Oh, loosen up a bit, will you?" I laughed lightly, hugging him tighter. Slowly, he melted like ice, relaxing into my embrace and putting his arms around me.

"Are you okay now?" he asked, but his voice was still strictly-business.

"Yeah," I pursed my lips, thinking. "This is weird for you, isn't it? This closeness? That's why you've gone into Soldier Mode."

"Uh, I'm always a soldier," he said, confusion tinting his voice. "But I know what you mean." He took a deep breath, and I felt his chest expand against my body. "Girls in my time weren't usually this, uh, fast-moving," he chuckled to himself, as I snuggled closer to my super soldier.

"I miss our movie nights," I said randomly. I was talking about how, back during the week I had spent with Steve, we would watch a movie every night. It was always a Disney movie, and since Steve only had one couch, we had curled up together under one blanket on the love seat, sharing a bowl of popcorn. I had introduced Steve to the wonders of Ocean Spray cranberry-and-grape juice, too.

At first, he had been uncomfortable with it. Movies weren't exactly his thing. But after he enjoyed The Lion King so much, he warmed up to the idea of colored, personal televisions and movies with loud noises and talking animals. There were even a few nights where Steve had actually beaten me to the couch.

"When everything is over and done with, we shall have to have another Disney movie night," he said, gently touching my hair. "You wanted to show me _Mulan_."

"Yes," I grinned into his chest. "Mulan is my favorite princess."

"Even more than Nala?"

"Nala's just a lion, silly."

We made lunch then (Greek wraps and more tea), and sat down with Tony to play card games and talk. Steve and Tony may have had egos that clashed, but I could see how they were becoming friends. Well, they no longer hated each other, at least.

I brought the board game "Clue," and we played that well into the evening. Tony forced Steve to be Colonel Mustard ("The Military Man", as Tony put it), and he played Mr. Green ("Green for money!"). I was Miss Scarlet, the seductive actress, but we changed her name to "Miss Silver", a play on words of my actual last name.

It was the most intense game of Clue I'd ever played, filled with laughs, and I finally forgot about my worries. For all I could remember, I was just playing a board game with two people who were very close to me. It was all okay.

For some reason, Tony _insisted_ he make dinner, and we go for a walk. Steve probably though Tony was planning on stealing something or burning the tent, but I guessed better. He had probably noticed my small exchange with Steve just before lunch, and was now playing Matchmaker. Typical Tony: he never had any sort of idea what he was getting himself (or others) in to.

We went for a walk nonetheless. It was tiring for me to walk, and it hurt my arms because of the crutches, but I was determined to not become "fat" while I had my broken leg. Besides, if I passed out from exhaustion or anything, Steve would probably be there to catch me.

I looked up at the blonde soldier out of the corner of my eye, admiring his handsome profile. He was a pretty good-looking guy, in a typical forties-style way. He dressed old-fashioned, too. Once, when we were out in Chicago, some hipster had called Steve a hipster. I'm pretty sure Steve still had no idea what that meant.

"Thanks for bringing us camping this weekend, Sam," he said, as we stopped and sat down in a field near the washrooms. "It's been an enjoyable weekend."

"Oh, no problem. I'm just glad you guys actually agreed to come," I shifted so that I was sitting beside him. He was picking at the grass, ripping it up in little tiny pieces, so I reached over and took his hand in mine. Steve's mouth twitched up into a small smile, as he squeezed my hand back.

I rested my head on his shoulder, yawning. "Steve? You might not have an answer to this question, but what were you planning on doing after World War Two? Like, for a living?"

He looked down at our entwined hands then, quiet. "Actually, I was going to take university courses."

"For what?"

"For art. I liked to draw."

"What did you draw?"

"Everything. Places, plants, animals. People," he looked down at my face. "I wasn't half bad, too. I enjoyed drawing. Still do, actually."

"I didn't know you drew."

"Look, I have a sketch in my pocket right now," he pulled a folded and crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. I took it from him gently, smoothing out the edges and creases as I opened it.

Inside was a pencilled drawing of me and Tony playing cards last night. Every last detail had been replicated perfectly, from the way our flashlight beams shone to the scruffiness of Tony's beard. In the drawing Tony was holding his cards loosely in his hand, so that everyone could see them; my mouth was open and smiling as I laughed at something he had just said. Steve had even drawn the tiny cuts and bruises on my face that weren't covered by the huge white bandage. It was funny, too, because I could remember this exact moment — Tony was just about to win the game.

"Wow," I breathed. "Steve, this is . . . this is amazing. Seriously, you have a real talent," I couldn't take me eyes off the drawing. "When'd you do this?"

"On my run this morning. I stopped halfway through for a break, and decided to do some sketching. It's from memory," he gently took it back.

"Yeah, but it's so detailed! And it looks exactly like the scene last night," I gushed, my eyes wide. It was especially impressionable because I couldn't draw to save my life, so any art beyond stick-figures was good to me. But that, that was just . . . phenomenal. "Honestly, Steve, it's beautiful," I smiled up at him, and he blushed slightly. "Who would have thought Captain America, of all people, was a talented artist?"

Something urged me on, then; prodded me forward and gave me courage to do something reckless. I craned my neck and quickly gave Steve a small kiss on the cheek. Well, sort of the cheek — I had placed it strategically, right on the very corner of his lips.

Steve turned an even darker red, and I found myself blushing too. He was just so cute whenever he blushed. It was another one of those things you wouldn't expect from Captain America.

He scratched the back of his neck in that awkward way of his. "Um, Sam? Would you . . . would you like to go, uh, fonduing?"

"_What_?"

"Uh, okay, dancing?"

"Sorry?"

"Um. I mean, do you want to go . . . out. On a date. Like, with me. Just the two of us. Out. Well, not necessarily _outside_, but . . ."

I started to laugh. "You're hopeless, Steve," I shook my head.

"But I'm serious," he said, looking slightly miffed.

I smiled, taking a hold of his hand again — I had had to let go when he took the drawing out. "Yeah. That'd be nice. Sure, I'll go on a . . . date. With you."

My insides squirmed. _Me_. On a _date_. With _Steve Rogers_. Or _Captain freaking America_. Take your pick.

"When do you, ah, want to go out?" his entire face was pink.

"Can we go on Monday?" I asked shyly, shrugging my shoulders up near my ears. "Monday evening-ish?"

"Where do you want to go? Dancing?" he asked hopefully.

"Um, Steve, I don't really know how to say this, but dancing nowadays is a _lot_ different from dancing back in your time," I smiled sadly. "I have something in mind that we can do, though. Trust me, it'll be fun."

He finally looked up at me for the first time in our conversation, and I felt my heart stutter. He was just so handsome — not hot, handsome — and had such unforgettable eyes . . .

"Hey, you two lovebirds done yet? Dinner's ready!"

We both jumped. Tony stood at the other end of the field, his arms over his chest. "Look, I may have sent you two off to hook up, but I kind of thought you'd _return_," he scolded.

A thought struck me. "Tony! Did you leave the campfire unattended?"

". . . Yes?"

I cursed. "Dammit, Tony, it's peak forest fire season. Go run back, _right now_, and watch over the fire!"

He rolled his eyes, but started jogging away anyway. I slumped back on the field, letting my head rest on the grass for a few moments before Steve helped me up. "Let's go, Masquerade," he said teasingly.

I groaned. "I don't think I'll be Masquerade. Not for a while — not with this leg." And not with Rome after, I thought excitedly. I realized that it probably wasn't the best idea to get romantically involved with Steve right before I left (for good), but I was too excited over the fact that he returned my affections to think straight.

I had only ever had one other boyfriend in my life — a guy by the name of Mark, who I had dated for three years, until halfway through grade 12. We had been my high school's power couple: the two people that everyone thought would get married right out of high school. Obviously, that didn't happen. Our breakup a few months ago had been mutual, so I had no reservations about getting into a relationship with Steve right now. Besides, Steve was _here_ — and Mark was most likely back in Chicago.

We had our (horrible) dinner of burnt hot dogs, but told Tony it was lovely anyway. We didn't mention our date at all, but I think Tony could sense it, because he kept giving us these looks and wiggling his eyebrows at me whenever Steve wasn't looking.

Bed came early that night. I didn't stay up late playing cards — after my breakdown that morning, I decided that maybe sleep was needed. Even Tony agreed to go to bed.

I was almost unconscious when I felt a soft hand touch the side of my cheek. Through the slits of my eyes, I could see that it was Steve, pushing my hair off my face. He traced my cheekbone gently, his fingers barely grazing over my skin.

Steve pulled his hand away suddenly (which was too bad, excuse I was enjoying it), and that's when I noticed he had a pencil in his hand and a blank piece of paper in front of him. I watched him begin to trace lines onto the paper as I dozed off into nothingness. Steve didn't show me the drawing the next morning, and I didn't bother to ask. It was his private work, and if he wanted to show me, he'd do so when he was ready.

For some reason, taking down the kitchen, tarp and tent was a lot harder than it had been putting everything up. For starters, Tony's knots were impossible to untie. It took us a few hours, but eventually we got everything packed up. Hopping back into the car, we settled in for the long ride home, eager to see if Hank and Janet and the others had come up with anything. We hadn't heard anything over the weekend, so it was pretty safe to assume there had been no new elements in the case.

Much to Steve's chagrin, Tony and I put Pink Floyd on the stereo again. I quite enjoyed the ride home, enjoying Tony's fancy car and listening to my favorite music. I was looking forward to having a nice, hot shower.

And, of course, I was looking forward to my date with Steve the next day.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm finally back from two weeks of vacation :) and for the first time in a while, I have wifi! REJOICE!**

**(Updates will be from my phone though, so sorry for any glitches)**

**I don't own anything, except Sam and my plotlines/ideas :) SPEAKING OF WHICH. A lot of you seem not to have realized something: I did not make up the Mandarin! He — and his rings — are entirely Stan Lee's creation. **

**NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE FROM NATASHA'S POINT OF VIEW! And the chapter after that :P But for the meantime, please tell me what you thought of this chapter! I love to hear all the feedback from you guys :)**

**Thank you to everyone who is reading — you guys mean theworld to me. And extra-special thanks to those wonderful, loyal reviewers: _A Contradiction, Selvet, Wolf Eared Girl, brandibuckeye, GoForTehGig, Comiccrazygothgirl, StarViky, 16, ClarinetRox88,_ _HannajimaShields _and 2 guests! **

**Also, since this is a superhero story, I feel it'd be best if I mentioned another superhero: Batman. From there, of course, I'm leading on to the movie-theatre shooting in Aurora. RIP to all the victims and their families — our hearts are with you. Remember that even though things are difficult, there are still heroes out there somewhere.**

**Until next time, and please leave a review! READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Alexa Blaze**


	10. For a Living

Natasha Romanoff's POV

"_How Superheroes Make Money:  
- Spider-Man knits sweaters.  
- Superman screws the lids on pickle jars.  
- Iron Man, as you would suspect, just irons." _

― _Jim Benton, __Okay, So Maybe I Do Have Superpowers_

Are there ever words, sayings even, in your life that cut you deeply? Make you stop and reflect; give you a reason to pause? It might be a trivial, unimportant saying or an epiphany-inspiring one, but it doesn't matter. It still sticks in your brain somehow.

I think Sam's saying probably had something to do with her Masquerade tattoo. Steve's, I knew, was that "no matter what happens, stay who you are" bullcrap. Tony's was most likely along the lines of "Tony first, other people second" or "I'm the best" or "Captain sucks." Okay, I'm being mean.

But in all seriousness, I think my saying was something Clint had said to me a while back: I wasn't a soldier. I was a spy. (Maybe an assassin on the side, but let's not get into the technicalities.)

Spying was what I did best. Better, even, than fighting. I wasn't built for the siege-the-villain-hideout and take-out-armies stuff.

That's why it was so perfect that it was _me _who the Mandarin had kidnapped. It was _me _who the moron took back to his base of operations.

And so, I spied.

It started with a small quarrel, of course. Things always start with small quarrels. After the Mandarin (who I still can't think of without imagining a giant monster orange) teleported me away from the warehouse, I had been completely dazed. I didn't know if it was because teleportation was built for one, if I had a really weak stomach or if that's just what it was like and I wasn't used to it. Whatever the reason, he was fine and I was totally out of my head when we "touched down" in god-knows-where.

He took my guns, ripped off my bracelets, and wrenched my hands open; the ten rings scattered to the floor. While he hurried around like a crab picking them up, I fell back on my butt with an "oof." I knew that if I didn't get out of there fast, he was going to kill me. The only reason he had probably brought me here was to get the rings back. In theory, he could have done it at the warehouse — but he had Iron Man and Captain on him, and I was still fully conscious back there. Here, we were alone.

Almost.

The Mandarin, now with his ten rings back on, turned to face me with a grin splitting his features. He raised his hands towards me, just like Iron Man and Masquerade do, intent on using a ring to probably kill, maim or seriously injure me. Maybe he was a sadist — maybe he liked playing with his food before he ate it. Quite frankly, I didn't want to find out.

I never did. From somewhere behind me, there was a loud cry, and then someone shot at the Mandarin. A bullet sailed over the terrorist's head, embedding itself in the wall.

"You move one muscle, Mandarin, and the next bullet goes through your ugly face," a deep, American male voice shouted.

That voice. I knew that voice.

"Oh, come on," the Mandarin groaned in his foreign accent. "It's not like I can keep her alive. She's an Avenger."

"You're the fool who brought her here," my rescuer retorted, and I heard the stomp of heavy boots on the floor. "To headquarters."

"She had my rings."

"Damn those rings to hell."

"Let me finish her off quickly, then."

"You will _not_ touch her," the American male said in dangerous tone; I heard the safety catch of a gun release as the boots clomped closer. "I'll take care of Agent Romanova."

I quickly stilled my breathing: there was only one person who called me Romanova. A shudder ran through my spine.

"Go, report back to Ultron. I have business to attend to. Now _move_ your ugly ass, unless you want me to put a bullet through it!" my defender shouted; the Mandarin reluctantly lowered his hands and, shooting a dark glare at me, exited the room by way of a brown door.

It looked to me as if we were in some sort of hotel room. Out the grimy window I could see a fire escape; to my right, there was a four-postered bed and set of brown wooden drawers. An overstuffed chair and red carpet, alongside a door left ajar leading to a bathroom, were the only other things in the room. It wasn't a _nice_ hotel room, not by far: it smelled like fear and urine, the bed sheets and curtains had moth holes in them, dust covered everything and one of the dresser drawers was obviously broken. Not the ideal place for a supervillain base — but it was something we, as Avengers, would never expect.

"So, Natalia Romanova," the boots clomped over so that _he_ was standing directly behind me. "We meet again. How long has it been? A year? Two?"

"Sixteen," I said through clenched teeth, without turning to face him. I gathered my wits about me as the last traces of dizziness faded.

"Oh, right. Whoops. Time passes much quicker when you're frozen in cryogenic state."

"So I've heard," I practically growled, my animosity at a high level.

"Of course you have, dearest Natalia. Is it not true that your beloved Capt—"

"Do _not _call me Natalia."

"Why, do you prefer the American version of your name? Natasha? I must say, the original Russian — Natalia Romanova — was much prettier."

I stared a hole into the floor. "As I've told you countless times, it's _Romanov._ Here, in America, I'm known simply as Natasha Romanoff. But you may call me Agent Romanoff," I shook a curl out of my eyes. "Our days of familiarity are over."

"Since when?" I heard him cross his arms across his chest, still towering above me. "Last time we met, we were still quite . . . _familiar_ . . . with each other, if you know what I mean."

"I've grown up since then."

"And I haven't," I could hear the grin in his voice. "I was just twenty-two when we first —"

"You were a child," I interrupted, "and you still are. Threatening the Mandarin with your guns, hiding out here . . ."

He laughed. "I will not be prey to your mind-tricks, Natalia."

"Agent Romanoff."

_"Romanova."_

"My days as a Russian are over."

"As are mine," he said carelessly.

"You were never a Russian," I spat, tracing patterns in the dust on the carpet with my finger. I was biding my time; trying to reveal information before I made my move. I couldn't turn to look at him, though — he knew me well enough to be able to read my plan of action in my eyes.

"I was a Russian," he hotly responded. "After World War II, it was the Russians who trained me. And during the Cold War, it was _them _I was loyal to — not that blasted Soviet Union. And after it dissolved, the Russians stuck by my side. _You_ didn't."

"I moved on with my life," I shrugged nonchalantly. "It seems to me, though, that your mind is still stuck in its cryogenic state. The Russians never —"

I was cut off as his hand wrapped around my neck, squeezing the air out and crushing my windpipe. I choked, trying to pry his fingers away from his neck, but it was useless — he was using his bionic arm.

That was possibly the most dangerous thing about him — the arm. In some World War II accident that even he couldn't remember, he had lost his entire left arm. The Russians had outfitted him with a robotic one, with super strength. He had control over it even when it wasn't attached.

Okay, looking back over this journal entry, I realize that things might sound confusing. Let me start from his beginning — or what I know of it, anyway.

This man — the one that was currently choking me — had been involved in some freak World War II accident. As a result he lost his arm, and was very near death. The Russians found him, by some luck of the draw, and trained him for years to be their new super-assassin.

That was how — and why — I met him. We had been partners-in-crime, allies, lovers even. I was the infamous Black Widow, a freelance spy; he was a Russian assassin who never failed a mission.

The thing was that between missions, the Russians (and eventually, the Soviets) froze him in cryogenic state — suspended animation. Exactly like what Cap went through. While Captain's state was by accident (as Tony found out after incessant research, it happened because of a reaction between the cold temperature and the Super Soldier serum (meaning if we had an especially cold day, Steve would freeze again)), my ally's transformation into a block of ice was entirely on purpose. He was an assassin who never failed a mission, and they wanted to keep him around for as long as possible.

Of course, that meant he aged slowly. He couldn't be any older than 26 by now, even though he was probably born some 20 years before WWII. Almost as impressive as Steve, I know. But the last time I had seen this guy was four years after the dissolve of the Soviet Union, when the Russians put him in cryogenic state for what they wanted to be a very, very long time. He was becoming _too_ dangerous.

Obviously, things hadn't turned out as they planned.

The funny thing about this guy was that he could remember nothing from before the Russians found him — he couldn't even remember his accident. He had his basic American accident, but that was it for clues as to his past. The Russians had needed to outfit him with a new name, and rather than giving him something simple like "Boris", they chose a name that they knew would instill fear into the hearts of their enemies.

The Winter Soldier.

He finally released me, letting go of my neck and stepping back. I resisted the urge to massage my throat, and instead tried to control my now rapid, shallow breathing.

"Be grateful I didn't let the Mandarin kill you, Natalia."

I didn't even bother correcting him. "How did you end up with so much power against the foreigner?" I couldn't help but ask, wheezing a bit.

"As much as I hate to admit it, we're on _equal_ levels of power," the Winter Soldier grumbled. "He just knows not to mess with me when I have a gun pointed at his face."

"And so you two are sitting here, chasing your tails all day while terrorizing civilians?"

He snorted. "You can be so naïve, Natalia. You think I would take part in something like that? I assassinate important people, not hurt petty children running amok on the streets. That's the Mandarin's job — instilling fear in the public. It'll make the rest so much easier. I'll take out the top guns; he'll kill the American Dream."

"What are you aiming for? The fall of a nation?" I said, provoking him, although I knew it wasn't the answer.

He tapped his foot on the floor. "I may be loose with my tongue, but I'm not going to give it all away. That would ruin the surprise," his voice dripped with sticky sweetness.

That was all right, though. His plan was simple enough to me. The Winter Soldier and I were practically the same person; we may as well have shared the same soul. I knew what he'd be thinking; what he'd be planning. _Why_ he was killing the American Dream.

I collected myself; placed a mask of calm over my features. Time to put the plan into action, so long as I could control my facial expressions. I had no weapons, but that would change before long.

"But that's not what I really want to know, Agent," the words rolled off my tongue easily. "How long have you been out of cryogenic state? And _why_ haven't you come back to me?"

A seductive, flirty smile slid across my face as I turned to face him. The Winter Soldier looked exactly as I remembered him — he had hardly aged a day: a barrel-chest and heavily-muscled body; long, shaggy brown hair that reached his chin; that terrifying silver bionic arm; a black suit like the ones that Clint and I wore, except with two silver straps across the chest in an X form; high black combat boots; a black mask, covering only his cheekbones (like Sam's); multiple guns strapped to his back, chest and hips. Perfect — he was just as remembered.

And not only in appearance, it seemed. He was still a lady killer with a soft spot for, well, for me.

"I only got out recently," he smirked. "Ultron released me himself a few months ago; nursed me back to health after being in such a cold state for so long. I can't imagine how your dear friend Captain America could have stayed frozen for 70 years."

I tilted my head to the side, cocking a hip. "He's of a different brood than you."

The Winter Soldier cracked his knuckles. "I want to meet this guy. He needs a good knuckle sandwich."

Something in the way he said it intrigued me. "Why are you so worked up about him?" I asked, seductively flipping my hair over my shoulder.

"Something about him just irks me," he growled. The Winter Soldier suddenly reached out, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me closer to him, so that our chests were touching. Perfect.

"And who's this 'Ultron' you speak of?" I narrowed my eyes; the Soldier's expression darkened.

"No one of importance," he moved his face closer to mine and avoiding the question. "Now, Natalia, I'll tell you why I really didn't let the Mandarin off you." I expected him to say something along the lines of "rekindling our relationship" or some cheesy crap like that, but he surprised me. "I think you'd make a good edition to our team."

I tried not to let my surprise show as I wrapped one arm around his neck and the other around his back. "Team of . . . ?"

"Me. Mandarin. Ultron."

"Not unless you tell me who the latter is," I said in a dead voice.

The Soldier sighed, suddenly looking tired. "The leader, I suppose you could say. The brains of all our plans. The Mandarin and I do all the dirty work. But you, Natalia, you could be our greatest addition," he touched his nose gently to mine. "You could tear the Avengers down from the inside. The Avengers are, of course, our only real threat."

In response, I kissed him.

It was the kind of messy, sloppy kiss that only happens between friends with benefits (not that we were that, of course): filled with lust and raw power and hunger, but not much love. As I pressed my mouth to his and he ran his fingers through my hair, I moved the hand that was on his back down to his hip.

Too easy.

In a flash, I grabbed the gun hoisted there as stepped back, pointing it straight at his face and releasing the safety catch. The Winter Soldier blinked in surprise as I took another step back, out of his reach. I kept the gun steady, though, as he slowly raised his hands above his head.

"It's always just a game of cat and mouse with you, isn't it, Natalia?" he growled.

I smirked. "Your greatest problem, Agent, was that you could only ever concentrate on one thing at a time," I laughed harshly, unable to help myself. "And you're too yielding. You need to be more cautious."

He lifted his chin a fraction of an inch, staring me right in the eye. "Look, Natalia. Don't act rashly. You know me — you know that you can trust me. So believe me when I say you should join our team. You could pretend to continue working for the Avengers, even, but keep reporting back to us. If you'd just wait to hear our proposal and what you'd get by joining . . ." he trailed off, raising his eyebrows. I hadn't even noticed that he was stalling. Because I had my weapon up, I had let my guard down.

What I hadn't counted on, of course, was that the Winter Soldier had backup. And I was so busy keeping the gun steadily pointed at the Solider's face that I didn't notice the Mandarin quietly re-enter the room — and hit me over the head with one of the drawers from the broken dresser, effectively knocking me out for what later turned out to be a full two days.

That was the end of my master plan of escape — a very ungraceful and anticlimactic end, but an end nonetheless.

The Winter Soldier, of course, still thought I could be corrupted. It was probably that kiss that convinced him I still had some of my old traitor-Romanova-spirit in me. Although I wasn't entirely sure I _didn't,_ I knew I wasn't going to defect on the Avengers.

I was locked in the dingy hotel room for a few days. To his credit, the Winter Soldier was good to me. He ordered me room service; sat up watching Star Wars movies with me one night; took care of the baseball-sized bump the Mandarin had given me on my head from the drawer. The Winter Soldier, I soon found out, was still infatuated with me. I could probably use that to my advantage.

I didn't really try escaping; I'll admit it. My only attempt (that failed, for the record) was to call 911 from the phone in the hotel room (it was ripped out of the wall and smashed against the floor after that incident). The only reason I wasn't killed was because the Winter Soldier, whose days of assassination hadn't yet started back up (and thus he was confined to the hotel room with me), still kept trying to "convert" me. The Mandarin started calling the Soldier a missionary, which greatly angered him, of course.

Not once throughout my few days of capture did I discover who this Ultron character was. That was the reason I didn't escape (for I knew I could if I tried). I wanted more information.

I _did_ find something else of great interest, though. On one of those rare occasions when both the Soldier and the Mandarin (the poor sods had to share the same hotel room — who knew villains had such trivial problems?) were out of the room, I started searching through the drawers and under the bed and in the pillows for, well, anything. To my astonishment — and anger, I think — I found a notebook, hidden behind the mirror.

Wait, not a notebook. A sketchbook.

It was filled with beautiful, lifelike, incredible drawings. An artist with real talent had draw these pictures. There were maps; soldiers going off to war; portraits of a young woman. Always the same young woman, with dark, chin-length curls and red lips. _Peggy Carter_, read the captions beneath each of the beautiful woman's portraits. I marveled at the landscapes drawn in the book, forgetting momentarily where I was and my current difficulties. There were animals and childhood scenes, but mostly depictions of war. The Nazi and HYDRA symbols littered the pages, along with the American flag scattered among them. A World War II sketchbook, I decided. How it had survived through the trials of time — and ended up in this hotel room — I had no idea. My best guess was that it was a possession of the Winter Soldier's. Possibly, it was his only link to his past. Maybe he had drawn the pictures. It wasn't too unlikely a thought.

I came across an incredibly detailed drawing near the back of the sketchbook; a drawing of a small group of men, all wearing American military uniforms, but smiling. They seemed to be joking with each other, having a few drinks, listening to a radio on the table. Among them I spotted the Winter Soldier, laughing alongside a mustachioed man. He was a few years younger than I knew him to be now, his face was not nearly as angry and his stance not as threatening. There was happiness, an actual positive feeling, shining in his eyes. Whoever had drawn the picture was such a good artist they could even capture that.

It was quite a shock, to see the drawing. Now, the Winter Soldier's eyes were cold. His emotions ranged from angry to really angry; his voice was dead. It was not only a surprise to see him younger and happier, but also to see him pre-Russian-assassin days. The boy — for he was nothing more than a boy, if an old and mature one — had no bionic arm; no sins weighing down his shoulders. This sketchbook really was a link to his past, even if it was practically impossible to tell what it meant, exactly.

I turned back to the front and flipped through the sketchbook again. This time, a small drawing of a monkey on a unicycle gave me pause. A feeling of dread crept through me as I stared at it — and the Captain America costume it wore, complete with the original shield. My heart dropped, and even before I flipped to the cover to see the name of the sketchbook's owner, I knew what I was going to find. How I had overlooked it before, I don't know. But people see only what they want to see. And this name, on this unwelcome sketchbook from the Winter Soldier's past, _hidden in thvillain'ss hideout_, made my stomach feel like lead.

_Captain Steve Rogers._

Anger bubbled inside me. What the _hell _was Steve's sketchbook doing in this goddamn hotel room — in the hands of our foes?

With that anger came, finally, the wish to escape my captives.

_Okay, Tasha_, I said to myself in my head. _Step-by-step. You can get through this. Firstly, you've gotta get these goddamn bonds off your feet_. A new passion, a firey need to escape, had awoken inside me. And it was not going to be ignored.

Truthfully speaking, the Winter Soldier had bound both my hands and my feet. But let's face the facts: I was the Black Widow. The bonds had been easy enough to shrug out of — the Soldier was no boy scout. I'm pretty sure even the Hulk could have tied better knots. I had released my hands a long time ago, slipping the bonds "on" whenever the Soldier or the Mandarin reappeared in the room. The Winter Soldier was still too trusting of me. He hadn't realized that I had changed since we last saw each other.

Now, I untied my feet. It didn't take long, and as soon as I was done I scooped up the incriminating sketchbook and slid it into my jacket, zipping up.

Rather than being obvious and simply walking out the front door, I yanked open the window and slipped out into the fire escape, which I climbed down nimbly. The only reason I had stuck around was because I had wanted more info on Ultron. It hadn't worked, and it wasn't going to work. My wait time was up; my patience had been tried. Someone else could come get the goddamn information.

Told you I was never in any real danger: not when I could escape so easily. But I was a spy. I wanted my information.

And so that's why, after running downstairs and using the lobby phone to call the Avengers for backup and alerting the hotel as to what was going on (can you believe that their base was in an actual occupied hotel?), I headed back upstairs. Even after all my mental talk about giving up, I was going to give it one more shot. I was going to uncover that Ultron secret.

* * *

**Author's Note: ****Bonjour, tout le monde :) thanks for reading this chapter! I've got just a few things to say:**

**I don't own the Avengers. Duh**.

**Sorry for all the semi-colons in this chapter LOL. I'm in the middle of reading both Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, and they use a _lot_ of semi-colons, so it's rubbed off on me. But oh! how the English language has changed. I now believe I could write Thor impeccably with hardly an effort, such has been the effect of these books on my dull mind ;)**

**Remember to check out the pictures of the characters at www . lexiblazefanfiction . webs . com (remove the spaces and type it into the URL bar).**

**OH MY GOD I WROTE AND EDITED THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER ON MY IPOD TOUCH DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BLOODY LONG THIS TOOK ME O_o**

**Thanks for all the reviews last chapter, guys! It means so much to me, and thank you so much to all of you wonderful people:_ Tbonechick2011, StarViky, 16, Annie, Comiccrazygothgirl, TA-twinArmaggedons, Wolf Eared Girl, HannajimaShields, GoForTehGig, akatsukigurl93_ and_ PJ NCIS TF 26_! Everyone's words mean so much to me :)**

**Special thanks to akatsukigurl93, who became the 200th reviewer on Silver Ashes! Thank you so much :D**

**One of my reviewers, Annie, requested a couple name for Sam and Steve LOL. So what do you guys think? All I've manage to come up with is Stam and Save, ahaha. Any better ideas?**

**And I'd love to hear if you know who the Winter Soldier is! It's quite big actually, ahaha. For the record, I had this entire _series_ planned out before they even announced that the title of the next Captain America movie would be "The Winter Soldier". It's just a great big coincidence :) But please, tell me if you know who he is — and who Ultron is ;P**

**Until next time, luvs, and please review! I'd love to hear from you on all the above points :) READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Alexa**


	11. The Road Not Taken

Natasha Romanoff's POV

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_

_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference._

_- Robert Frost, The Road Not Taken_

I needed my information like a drug addict needed heroine; like a fish needed water; like a parent needed their child; like Sam needed Steve, even. I wasn't going to leave without it.

Now that I had alerted the hotel as to the threats in the building, all I had to do was twiddle my thumbs until backup arrived. I decided, though, that it would be a better use of time to stall the villains. Everything would be a lost cause if they found out help was on the way — if they escaped and I didn't get any more info. I wasn't even going to bother taking down or capturing them — we weren't at that stage in the case yet. For now, we had to lie in wait and plan.

While I was contacting the Avengers, I had coaxed information out of the desk clerk. As it was, the Mandarin was renting two rooms: the one that he was staying in with the Winter Soldier and me, and another for the wild card — the benefactor — "Ultron". Whoever this guy was, the Soldier and the Mandarin were in his room right now, probably "hatching diabolical plans". I crept along the hallways and up staircases until I was standing outside the door to the hotel room.

Now came a slight problem. I needed to eavesdrop on whatever conversation was going on, and possibly even be caught (on purpose, that is), if it meant more time for the Avengers to arrive. How I was going to get into the room, though, proved to be a challenge. I couldn't just barge through the door, nor hide at the window; and the ventilation system was too small for me to crawl through.

Thank God it was a crappy hotel, though. The ceiling panels were removable, like those in a classroom, and if I could get into the ceiling, I'd be able to crawl over to just above the hotel room. In the elevator lobby was a small desk with New York City tourist guide books; I hopped onto that and, standing on my tiptoes, pushed on a ceiling panel. It slid away easily, and after I leapt up I found myself crawling on the ceiling through wires and inches of dust, in the general direction of the hotel room.

Picking a random panel that I believed to be over the hotel room, I shifted it imperceptibly to the side and stuck my eye to the tiny crack. Rather than looking down on the Mandarin and the Winter Soldier, I was instead met by the scene of a quarreling family: a woman tried to run a hairbrush through her screaming daughter's hair, as a man chased a little naked boy around the room. Whoops, wrong panel.

I tried another one a few feet away, but it showed only an old man, eating some of the crappy room service food slowly. Moving around again, I got a face full of cobwebs before finally finding the right panel to slide away.

I left myself with less than an inch of space to look through, but still, it was enough. Below me I finally saw the Mandarin and the Winter Soldier, arguing back and forth with each other. There was another man in the room — if he really was a man.

He looked humanoid enough. He had all the same features as a person: arms, legs, eyes, etc. But his entire body was silver; a metallic silver. I doubted it was skin, and I gazed down at the bald head, so shiny I could see my reflection: this "man" was a robot.

He sat on the bed, fiddling with another tiny silver thing in his hands. Wait, no — he was fiddling _with_ his hand. Sparks erupted from the metal as he modified it; upgraded it. Listening to the Soldier's fight with the Mandarin, I finally discovered that this robot was Ultron.

Now, what the hell were a robot, a former Russian assassin, and a newfound terrorist doing in such a normal hotel room?

I didn't even get the chance to examine the other contents in the room when Ultron, without looking up from his work, said in a predictably typical robot voice: "Natasha Romanoff is in the ceiling panel above us. She is attempting to eavesdrop."

Fine then, Ultron. Force my hand, will you? _Action time_.

I completely removed the panel in the blink of an eye, jumping down and landing right on Utron's shoulders. The heavy metallic robot didn't even move; just kept on working at his hand, as if I didn't exist. Mentally shaking my head, I slid off and went right for the Mandarin, who was aiming his hands at me.

"Don't hurt her!" the Winter Soldier predictably shouted, but he had his guns pointed at me. I kicked the Mandarin's hands; they were knocked down to the side, as I punched him in the gut. As he exhaled heavily, I reached in and grabbed his teleporter from him, ripping it off and clutching it tightly in my hand.

Now, at least, I had something we could work on back at the lab.

"Natalia, you move one more inch, I'll shot you in the legs," the Soldier threatened. I turned to face him, anger flaring in my eyes —

And someone leapt through the closed, curtained window, shattering glass that flew throughout the room.

He rolled on the floor, startling everyone, and then suddenly an arrow shot through the air beside the Soldier's head. I'll admit it: I sighed in relief.

Backup was here.

Hawkeye's arrow lodged itself in the wall, and for a split second, everyone was transfixed by the tiny beeping red light on the shaft. Then, in a small explosion of flames, the wall was blown apart and we were all sent flying in different directions. Thankfully, I crashed right into Hawkeye; affording a quick smile, I nodded towards the exit door. Even though we had control of the situation, we were still in the enemy's base — with civilians surrounding us on all sides.

Thor, of course, chose to make his appearance then. He suddenly showed up in the room (to this day, I'm still not sure how he got there), swinging Mjolnir angrily at the Mandarin.

"YOU!" he bellowed. "You are the foul heathen who dared to injure the Lady Samantha!"

"At least he's not calling her the Woman of Silver anymore," I heard Hawkeye mumble as Thor's hammer caught the Mandarin in the chest and he sailed backwards through a wall.

I grabbed onto Hawkeye's arm, trying to drag him out of the room, but the Soldier stood in our way. Ultron was nowhere to be found, but the Soldier had another teleportation device in one hand; a gun in the other. Hawkeye lost no time in firing off an arrow, which the Soldier easily dodged.

Our new foe began shooting, tearing bullets through the walls and nearly hitting us; he would have, if Hawkeye hadn't shot another arrow and caught the Soldier in the bionic arm. It glanced off the metal harmlessly, but it was enough to momentarily distract (and irritate) him.

The sounds of Thor's battle with the Mandarin raged on in the other room, and when the latter cried out in pain, the Soldier took off to help. Well, to escape. He grabbed the Mandarin's hand hastily, fingering the teleporter; Hawkeye let loose another arrow. This time, it caught the Winter Soldier in the leg. He howled in pain, shot one furious glance directly at me, and then teleported out of there with the Mandarin. Mjolnir, which had been in mid-swing, crashed right into the spot that the Mandarin's head had previously occupied.

I panted in the rising dust from the destroyed walls; the family I had seen earlier (which still consisted of the little naked boy) stood staring at us, mouths open in astonishment. I ignored them, searching through the rubble for anything belonging to the villains. There was nothing: it had disappeared with Ultron.

"Let's get back to base," I said slowly, turning to Hawkeye and catching him staring at me. I thought of my past relationship with the Winter Soldier — keyword _past_ — and now, of my growing feelings for Hawkeye. So I made a Sam-like move: I reached out and took his hand gently, like Sam and Steve did after a battle. "I have a _lot_ of information to share with you guys."

My mission had succeeded.

* * *

Upon my arrival to Stark Tower, I was greatly surprised — as were Hawkeye and Thor — to find S.H.I.E.L.D director Nick Fury there, waiting. A grim expression covered his, well, grim features, as we trampled into the room like vagabonds. Clint, of course, refused to talk to Fury until he had a cup of tea.

"S.H.I.E.L.D will take care of your fuck-up at the hotel," Fury said sternly, by way of greeting. No one replied

A long pause ensued, that Fury had to break. "I do hope you realize that S.H.I.E.L.D has handed you this stupidass Mandarin case, and it is fully your responsibility," he glared at Thor, Clint and I in turn.

"We know, Mom," Clint rolled his eyes.

"Then _why,"_ Fury's voice threatened to turn harsh, "is my super soldier _camping_ with your two other idiot teammates?"

"You've really got a thing for Steve, don't you?" I mused, making myself a sandwich. I was freaking starving after being given minimum food for a couple days.

"It's not that I've got a 'thing' for Rogers," Fury grumbled, "it's just that I don't like the other two morons."

"You're the one who dragged Sam onto this team," I pointed out unhelpfully.

"That was before I realized how much she's like Stark," Fury crossed his arms over his chest.

"Look," Clint raised his hands, trying to be the peacekeeper, "we know this is our first full responsibility as Avengers. We're just kind of out of leads right now."

"Well, we _were,"_ I took a bite out of my sandwich and spoke with my mouth full. "I got quite a lot of information, being held captive for almost an entire goddamn week — since _you_ idiots wouldn't come and save me!"

"I repeat, we had no leads!" Clint's voice reached a high pitch.

"No one said this was going to be easy," I grumbled.

Thor, who had practically been forgotten, spoke up. "We are pleased to be graced with your presence, Angry Man, but we wish to know to true reason of your calling."

"Did that motherfucker _actually_ just call me 'Angry Man'?" Fury directed his question at me, jabbing a finger at Thor.

"Did you _actually_ just call _Thor_ a motherfucker?" I replied, just as astonished.

"Yeah, the other day, he brought a duckling into Stark Tower! He's got a heart made of fluff!" Clint put in.

Fury shut his eye, trying to keep his annoyance in check. "I'm just here to check in; assure that all is going well. Also, S.H.I.E.L.D is offering to coverAndy tracks you need to disappear — like that hotel fiasco a few minutes ago," he shook his head. "Anyway, I'm glad to see you're back, Agent Romanoff, and in good health. You can drop your S.H.I.E.L.D case researching Pym Particles, by the way: at least while you clear this Mandarin business up."

"Um, I don't think it's just the Mandarin we're dealing with here," I reflected, but my comment was ignored as Fury bade us farewell.

Clint helped me clean up and rest after my harrowing experiences, and we spoke little. Within the hour I was re-introduced to Janet Van Dyne and Hank Pym; the former insisted on taking me out for a girl's day with Sam so we could all "get acquainted" with each other, but it was postponed until the next day because I "needed rest".

To my surprise, Doctor Bruce Banner arrived at Stark Tower presently. It took us a long while to relay the current events to the nervous doctor, but he eventually came to grasp the Mandarin threat and even became quick friends with Hank Pym.

I postponed my stories until late in the evening, when Sam, Steve and Tony arrived home from camping (they were _camping!_ While I was being held captive! Obviously they had their priorities in order). A team meeting was immediately called upon, and all the Avengers came to sit in the living room, alongside Hank and Janet.

No one even exchanged "Hello"s or "Glad to see you're back"s — we just went straight down to business. "Okay, so. I got _this,"_ I slammed the teleporter down on the table, "which is the Mandarin's teleporter. I'd suggest you three," I looked at Tony, Bruce and Hank, "to do some work on it. Figure out how it works. Where it came from. What it can be used for — all that bullshit. Also, if you could do some research on the Mandarin's rings —"

I was cut off by Hank. "Actually, we've already been looking into those. They're Makluan technology. It's a race of aliens that Thor knows about," he nodded at the big Norse god thankfully.

"Great. Good work," I stated. "Now, that takes care of him. Moving on to Ultron. Basically, all I know is that he's some big robot guy, and the leader of the operation."

I noticed that at the mention of Ultron's name, both Hank and Janet turned pale, exchanging glances. Okay, weird. I'd have to do some of my own spying on them.

"Oh, and before I forget," I couldn't help but add, "we need to look into that weird Ant-Man and Wasp problem."

"Call the exterminator," Tony muttered, and I rolled my eyes.

I then relayed everything the Winter Soldier had told me, about killing the American Dream and his future plans to assassinate American leaders. This, of course, led to me having to explain everything I knew about our newest threat, the Soldier.

And now, even though we had all this new information, we sat in silence. None of us knew what to do next. Researching things was great and all . . . until you needed to take action, and you had no way to do so.

"Maybe we'll just have to wait until they make a move," Steve shrugged. "And we'll have to learn to be ready for it. We can figure out what to expect."

"Wise words," Hank nodded, "but Agent Romanoff — I'm a bit confused. _Why _have the Soldier and the Mandarin gone to all these lengths to terrorize America, and eventually kill some of its leaders?"

I shrugged. "It's simple, really. Either they've been watching Pixar's _Incredibles_ too many times, or they're just really messed up." Judging by the blank looks from Steve and Thor, I realized they didn't understand and I needed a better explanation. "In the movie _The Incredibles, _the bad guy, known as Syndrome, kills all the superheroes in the world. He then proceeds to build a robot that only he can destroy. He sets the robot loose on a city and then flies in and saves all the civilians, effectively proving himself as a hero, even though it was all orchestrated. For the record, I only know all that because Sam seems to find some sick sort of pleasure in making us all watch Disney and Pixar movies," I glared at the young blonde, and she snickered.

I was still getting blank looks, so I went on. "I predict that their plan is to throw the nation into chaos. Then out of the gloom, they'll step in as new, strong, trustworthy leaders — and they'll stop the terror. People will believe it's because they're leading the country well, but in actuality, it's because it was _them_ who was attacking everyone. By taking out political leaders, too, they'll clear the spots for themselves.

"The other option, of course, is that they just want to watch the world burn."

The meeting was adjourned then, and everyone retreated to their own seperate corners of the mansion to think of the new facts brought to light. Everyone seemed in a much gloomier mood after my long monologue, but I was pleased — finally, we had all seven Avengers back together (even if Sam was out of play because of her injuries, and Hank and Janet were hanging around).

I headed back to my room, intent on figuring out what to do about Hank and Janet, when the strange sketchbook with Steve's name on it caught my eye. I had taken it out of my jacket and placed it on my dresser when I changed into more comfortable clothes; and now, I took it in my hand and went to find Steve again.

"Care to explain why _this_ was in the enemy's base?" I asked haughtily, dropping it in his hands when I found him snacking in the kitchen.

Steve took one look at it and practically passed out. "Oh my God," he said, eyes wide and fingers trembling slightly as he turned through the pages. "This is the sketchbook I used seventy years ago. I haven't seen it since World War Two. Honestly, Nat, I . . . wow. Just wow."

"I know what you're implying, Tasha, but you're wrong," Sam shook her head, walking over; she had been catching up with Bruce over by the fridge. "Steve, of all people, isn't working with the bad guys. Besides, he has a new sketchbook now, anyway. Why would he keep two?"

"There are pictures from the war," Bruce cut in unexpectedly, "of Steve — as Captain America — drawing in that very same book. I've seen them. And I'm pretty sure he wasn't frozen with it," Banner furrowed his brow.

"Nat, I honestly have no idea why you found this over there. I didn't even know it existed anymore," Steve still looked thunderstruck.

"We have bigger things to worry about," Bruce scolded, and I crossed my arms over my chest. "Like this . . . Winter Soldier guy."

I considered pointing out the picture of him in Steve's sketchbook, but in the end, I didn't move or say anything. Everyone slowly left — Steve with his head buried in the book — and I retired to my room. I needed some me time.

* * *

The next day I found myself sitting in a café with an overly bright Janet Van Dyne and a pouting Samantha Silverman. I sipped at my coffee, finding the whole ordeal quite amusing. We were having our special "Girls' Day", as Janet had suggested. I don't think either Sam nor I wanted to do it, but when Jan got an idea in her head, she never gave up until that idea became reality.

Janet amused me. She was a fashion designer with only a little bit of brain. Seriously, she reminded me of a bubble. An unpoppable bubble. There was nothing that could bring down her high spirits.

Sam had looked better, though. There was a big cast on her leg (the entire thing was covered in signatures from Tony — seriously, not even Steve had found enough space to write his name. Apparently Tony did it while she was sleeping), and a white bandage wrapped around her head. As she told me, she had two cracked ribs as well, and a dentist had already replaced a tooth that she had lost. Seemed to me as if the poor girl had been to hell and back.

There was another new dynamic, too: according to Clint, Sam and Steve were now "going out". She had admitted it to Clint when they had their daily four-in-the-morning tea-and-chat session (those things were quickly becoming their official bonding time). I found the prospect of a relationship between Steve and Sam cute, in a way. Steve was so shy and serious compared to Sam, but she really made him stand out more.

Anyway, I had to sit in the stupid café with a half-asleep Sam (apperently 8:00 was too early in the morning to wake her up) and an overly-excited Janet. "It's our first Girls' Day!" she had squealed when she led us to her Porche in the morning. "We're going to be such great friends!"

Yeah, so far, that wasn't working out too well. Sam was practically falling asleep, and Jan and her non-stop talking was giving me a headache.

I took a long gulp of my coffee, trying to tune Janet out. She was talking about her job, I think, for like the hundredth time.

"So I'm actually seriously considering designing a new clothing line. What do you guys think? I mean, like, not just a spring line or a summer line or something like that," Janet flapped her hands as if it was a rediculous prospect. "No, no. I mean like, an official Avengers line, or something totally cool like that. Do you know how many kids would pay to have a t-shirt with a print of Captain America's shield on it? Or Iron Man's arc reactor? Or — _omigod, _I totally just thought of something even better! I'm a high fashion designer, of course — making shirts like that just isn't my style," she shook her head.

"No no no, I'll do a line inspired by you Avengers girls! Natasha, I could totally see a line based off you — sleek evening dresses and oversized coats, or maybe something more like combat boots and heavy-duty pants. And you, Sam! I just love your style, but I could make it so much better. I know you like to wear skinny jeans and your special grey leather bomber jacket overtop that other dreary grey sweater, but oh! If you let me design your wardrobe, you'd look so much better. Chiffon shirts, high-waisted shorts, wedges — _aha! _I've got it. I'll make a line of sleek feminine wear inspired by Natasha, as a line of shoes — mostly heels, of course — inspired by Sam! This is _perfect!" _she squealed, making my headache turn into a migraine. "What about you, Natasha? Can I call you Nat? What's your job? I mean, obviously you're the amazing Black Widow, but what do you do when you're not saving the world?"

"I hunt and assassinate annoying fashion designers," I grumbled, and found satisfaction in the way Janet's eyes went round as golf balls. "Kidding. I'm a spy," I responded, staring out the window at a middle-aged couple with two rowdy kids. "I work for myself, and sometimes I work for S.H.I.E.L.D."

She nodded as if it was incredibly interesting information. "What about you, Samantha, dear? You're an adult. What's your job?"

Sam lifted her head up from the table, looking around blearily. "I was going to go to a university in Washington State," she sat up, taking a sip of her tea, "but Tony's paying for my tutition and housing in Rome. The archaeology university's already accepted me — I took the entrance exam a while ago, just for fun, to see if I could get in. But Tony's going to foot the bill and help me pick out an apartment, and I'm supposed to leave next week."

"Wait, what?" I leaned forward, finally paying attention to something someone was saying. "You're moving to _Rome_?"

"Yeah. You know, the capital of Italy," Sam smiled, wiping her hair off her face.

I stared at her, trying to figure her out. "You realize what this means," I said in a deadbeat voice.

"Um," she looked at me, leery.

"Sam, when you go to Rome, you're leaving behind your whole life. Your parents, your siblings, your friends. The English-speaking country. Do you even speak Italian?"

"No?" she said, making it sound like a question. "I've gone through all this in my head multiple times, Tasha. You think I don't realize how big of a decision this is? It's on an entirely different _continent_. I feel like one of those people who throws everything away for the chance to have an adventure. And you know what? It's a really nice feeling," she took another sip of her tea, not taking her eyes off mine. "I've been to Rome before. I've studied its history; I know what I'm getting in to. I'll be fine."

"But will we?" I sat back in my seat, putting my coffee down on the table.

"Huh?"

"Sam, when you leave, you're giving up on Masquerade. And that means you'll no longer be an Avenger."

"I know, Tasha," she sighed heavily. "That's partially why I made the choice. I don't _want_ to be a hero. I want to be a normal girl, living a normal life."

"So you're moving to Italy," I shot back sarcastically.

"Tasha, you're not listening. I want to spend my life studying Roman history; being an archaeologist. I was never meant for the superhero stuff. _I don't want this_. And Rome is the best chance I have of escaping."

I shook my head. "Sam, being a hero isn't supposed to be a burden. You have powers! How are you going to 'escape' that?"

"I don't know!" she cried, covering her ears as if she wanted to block my words. "I know that 'With great power comes great responsibilty.' That's the creepy spider's motto. But I really _didn't_ want the power in the first place!"

"You're looking at this the wrong way," I snapped.

"No, Tasha, you're just being too selfish to realize this is _my_ choice, and this is what _I_ want. For _me_. It's _my_ life."

I sighed, grabbing my coffee again and taking a long drink from it. "Fine. You're right," I ran a hand through my hair. "It's your decision. And everyone's allowed to make mistakes."

"Thanks," Sam said sarcastically, glaring at me. Janet — who had been sitting in silence for the first time all morning — was practically beaming. She was proud, I think, to be allowed to hear drama like this.

"What about Steve?" I asked suddenly, furrowing my brow. "Aren't you two, like, romantically involved now?"

Sam blanched. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Clint."

She frowned. "He gossips worse than old women. But yeah. I guess."

This angered me a bit. "Then why the hell are you going out with him if you're just going to up and leave in a week?" She looked slightly shocked, so I went on. "You're practically his best friend, so I'm sure _you_ of all people understand how much he's lost. Steve has no one, Sam, except you. Maybe Tony sometimes; maybe me. But you're his best friend, and now you two are going out. Do you know what it will do to him, to have you leave? Especially now?"

"I . . ." she started, but had nothing to say.

"It's not fair to play with him like that, Sam. You move to Rome, you become an archaeologist. Then you _stay_ in Rome. You very well can't study Roman history in New York City. Once you start down that path, there's no turning back," I hissed. "You'll be giving up _everything_. And you're going to rip poor Steve's heart out. I can _promise_ you that he won't take it very well."

"I'm sorry, okay, Tasha? Can we please not talk about this?" Sam asked in a choked voice, and I noticed her red-rimmed eyes. She wiped at them, avoiding my gaze. "Jan! Why don't you tell us again about that time you went skydiving in Brazil?"

In retrospect, I was being a bit harsh. But Sam needed a dose of reality. It was like that Robert Frost poem: "The Road Not Taken." Sam was taking the road less travelled, and it was going to make all the difference. She didn't seem to understand that once she moved to Rome, she couldn't come back. Her life would be _there_. And it's not like she could bring Steve: he was Captain America. Not Captain Italy. And he couldn't just drop everything and leave; not like Masquerade. Sam had only been around for one battle. Cap . . . well, he had a legacy to uphold.

"Hey, Tashie, have you heard this song?" Janet asked, pulling out her iPod and placing it on the table.

"Don't call me Tashie."

Janet was trying to convince me to listen to her iPod (mainly to fill the awkward silence; Jan had refused to tell her skydiving story again) when Sam sat back in her seat, a perplexed expression on her face. "Who's Peggy Carter?" she asked randomly, looking up at me.

"Agent Carter was a British woman working with the US army in World War Two," I recited, not missing a beat. "She oversaw Captain's career, and was kind of his girlfriend."

"Oh," Sam looked down.

"Why do you ask?"

"I was looking through Steve's old World War Two sketchbook. There's a lot of pictures of some guy named Bucky in there, and a few more of 'Peggy Carter'. I just wanted to know who she was."

"Sam, I wouldn't worry about Peggy. Steve likes you, not her. That was a long time ago."

"Not to him," she sighed, shifting in her seat uncomfortably.

"Trust me, Carter's old and grey now. He won't be running back to her anytime soon," I admitted.

"Wait, what? She's still alive?"

I nodded. "But Sam, just because I said Steve likes you and not Carter does not mean you should be going out with him."

"Excuse me?"

"She's talking about the Rome thing again," Janet announced loudly, scrolling through the music on her iPod.

Sam reddened. "Can't you please just drop it, Tasha? I've made my decision. What's done is done. And it may not be the _right_ decision, but it sure as hell isn't the wrong one."

I got up from the table, grabbing our drinks and walking away to place them in the trash can. "Look, I know Tony's going to support you in whatever you do, but honestly? I liked it better when you were going to school in the other side of the country. Not the other side of the _world_."

I half expected her to storm out angrily, but no matter how young she was, she wasn't _that_ immature. "Okay, whatever," Sam stood. "That's your opinion. I'd just really appreciate it if you kept it to yourself. You're being . . . harsh."

"I'm being truthful. Let's face it, Sam: I'm not one to lie to your face or beat around the bush."

She rolled her eyes, tugging Janet to her feet. "Let's just go, okay? And can we please forget about this?"

"When are you going to tell Steve?"

"Actually, I was thinking . . . tomorrow. I kind of have a plan forming in my head."

Janet hitched her purse higher up on her shoulder. "Let's go, you two gorgeous girlies," she gushed, as if oblivious to all the tenseness and fighting. "This has been a fantastic outing."

"Really?" Sam and I asked in disbelief at the same time.

"Really. I think we got some great bonding done."

Okay, seriously? Who had convinced Tony to let this dunce work with us?

"I'm just saying, Sam," I couldn't help but add as we walked out of the café, "you have a lot of options here. You could study American history, or get a job with S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm sure Janet would let you work for her," the corner of my mouth twitched up in a smile, imagining Sam as a fashion designer. When hell froze over. "And Tony would gladly take you on as his coffee-run girl. Or as assistant to Pepper."

"Tasha?" she said in a sweet, innocent voice.

"Yeah?"

Sam smiled sweetly. "Go die in a hole. Or drown in a puddle. Really, either would work for me." And with that she turned and — finally — stormed away from me, with Janet in tow.

Yeah. Great bonding experience. Because we all love each other now, you know?

* * *

**Author's Note: So. Sam and Natasha don't really like each other, do they :S**

**I don't own anything, except Sam and the plotline/story. Do I look like Stan Lee? (The answer to that question is no.)**

**Since the feedback on the last chapter was so wonderful, and since there was so much of it, I decided to post this a day early! Thank you guys all so much for the wonderful feedback :D It was amazing. I'll respond to the reviews as soon as I can — my Internet connection is being wonky.**

**Thank you to everyone for reading, and special thanks to my amazing reviewers: _brandibuckeye, tbonechick, StarViky, HannajimaShields, La Bella Figura, Selvet, LunaTheLoneWolf, Telekinetic in the usa, clarinetgirl628, Of-Thieves-and-Liars, 16, Laurafxox, PJ-NCIS-TF-26, Chester Grey, Comiccrazygothgirl_ and_ akatsukigurl93_! Thank you all so much C:**

**Anyway, the battle for the couple name begins! I've had quite a few wonderful suggestions so either vote for your favorite, or just pick whichever suits you. Thanks to everyone who told me what they thought would make a good name xD. And the nominees are: Steam, Stanantha, Sogers, Stemantha, Rogsilver, American Mask, and Captain Silver! I'm loving all these suggestions :P although I think my personal favorite is Sogers, heehee :)**

**Thanks again everyone, for all the feedback! It means the world to me, and hopefully you enjoyed this chapter. Keep in mind that the big date happens on the same day as Tasha's fight with Sam took place ;) it's coming up soon! READERS ASSEMBLE, and please review!**

**- Lexi**


	12. Short, Chubby Toddlers

Clint Barton's POV

_"I don't understand why Cupid was chosen to represent Valentine's Day. When I think about romance, the last thing on my mind is a short, chubby toddler coming at me with a weapon."_

_- Unknown_

The name's Barton. Clint Barton.

Insert eyebrow wiggle here.

I've been tasked, by my very good friend Samantha, to write the next entry. And what an _honor_ this is. I've always envied the little blue journal she's been writing in and passing around. I mean, seriously, how did _Thor_ get a part before me? He hardly even speaks normal English!

It was Monday, the day after Tony, Steve and Sam had returned from that glorious camping trip of theirs that I wasn't invited to (thanks, guys. I'm really feeling the love). The only thing there had been to report was Natasha's rescue, and that she knew all that crap about what our enemies were doing. We were finally getting back on the right track.

I was standing in the kitchen, drinking tea when Sam hobbled in on her broken leg. She took my leftover hot water and poured it into a mug, adding a teabag to it and letting it rest. She was impatient, though: she kept tapping her fingers against the counter and bouncing her leg up and down.

"What're you so nervous about?" I asked. I was Hawkeye: I couldn't stand not knowing something.

"Um, just excited. About this evening," she answered absentmindedly, staring at the wall clock.

"Why?"

"Uh . . ." she blushed. "I have a date."

_Oh, right_, I thought. _With Steve._ She had told me about her feelings for him during our chat that morning — mutual feelings, apperently.

Janet Van Dyne suddenly descended upon us from out of nowhere. She squealed, grabbing Sam's tea-free hand and bouncing up and down. "How exciting!" she smiled at Sam, kind of freaking her out. "Can I help you get ready? Please? Pretty pretty please? With a cherry on top?"

"Uh . . . sure?" Sam responded, but it sounded more like a question.

"YAY!" Janet squealed, looking like she was going to explode with happiness. Seemed to me she was more excited about the date than Sam was.

Hank Pym and Janet were practically always at Tony's now. It was as if they had moved in. And even though they weren't Avengers, Tony let them stay, mainly because they (well, Hank) were helping out so much.

Janet was an odd woman. I'm not really sure how she got to marry Hank, who was her complete opposite. She was a fashion designer and socialite with the brain of a high school teenager — even Sam acted older than her. Janet was short, with dark black hair in a pixie cut and pale skin. Everything about her was just so bubbly and lively. It kind of frightened me.

Hank was quite different from his wife. From what I'd heard, he was one of the greatest minds in science nowadays, aside from Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Reed Richards. He was serious and quiet, with blonde hair and a very prominent jawline. Hank spent almost all his time in the lab, working on that Makluan science stuff. At the moment, though, he was trying to figure out the Mandarin's teleporter.

Speaking of the devil, Hank walked into the room then, with Tony and Bruce following behind. "Team meeting, please?" Hank said loudly, gathering us all around the coffee table in the TV room.

"Hey, since when are you calling the team meetings?" Tony said crossly. "You're not even an Avenger. I'm the one who gets to call the Avengers. AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!" he shouted, even though everyone was already there.

Hank sighed, rolling his eyes. "Okay, I have a minor breakthrough with the Mandarin's teleportation device," he said. "But don't get too excited. It's not much."

As I looked at him, a thought struck me. Hank _Pym_. Natasha had been investigating a case for S.H.I.E.L.D about "Pym Particles." Some scientist had developed a way to grow smaller and bigger at will. I wondered if said scientist had been Hank. Probably — there weren't too many "Pym"s in the world.

"The technology that the teleporter used was not Makluan," he said, tapping a long sheet filled with text. "It was definitely man- or machine-made. I recognize it as the technology that, uh, a close friend of mine used once. Basically, I think it's safe to assume the Mandarin was working with someone else. Someone who possessed this sort of technology."

"We already knew that," Tony said crossly, probably a bit peeved that Hank had figured something out before him.

"Uh, well, yeah," Hank stuttered. "But this is . . . this is proof."

"How is this proof? A moment ago, you were making it sound like an assumption," Bruce cut it. "Besides, we already have Natasha's eyewitness account."

"Yeah, but — well, this is Ultron's technology."

"And how do you know that?" Bruce pressed.

"Maybe he got his information from that Ant-Man guy. And Wasp," Natasha suggested in that I'm-cornering-you way of hers.

"No, it wasn't them," Janet, of all people, chimed in.

"Jan, we're not talking about them right now," Hank shot her a look.

"No, I really think we _should_ be talking about them right now," Tony interjected.

"Yeah," I felt like adding my own two cents. "How come you haven't done any research whatsoever about those two costumed people?"

Tony was now staring hard at Hank. "You know, you have a similar voice to Ant-Man's," he said slowly, as if putting the puzzle pieces together in his head.

"And you look like that Wasp chick," Sam's eyes were wide as she looked at Janet, whose face was now red as she looked to her husband.

"PYM PARTICLES!" I stood up and shouted, putting it all together. "You — he — it — they — you —"

"You two are Ant-Man and Wasp, aren't you?" Tony accused, standing up beside me to look down on the couple.

Janet looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, but Hank was the opposite. "Actually yes, we are," he crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. "I invented something called Pym Particles — it allows me and Jan to shrink and grow in size. Due to more scientific tests and mutations," he glared up at Tony, "Jan grows wings from her back whenever she shrinks, and can shoot energy beams out of her hands. That helmet you saw me wearing wasn't just part of the costumtoolkit her — it enables me to talk with ants. I invented it."

Everyone stared at them, dumbfounded as things started to fall into place. "That's why a huge horde of ants got all that rubble off me! _You_ were telling them to save me!" Sam gasped.

"Yeah, and that's why ants carted off Clint," Captain added. "It explains why you knew so much about what happens after someone only goes through half the disintegration process — it was _you_ who took the blood samples from Clint."

"Uhh, who are Ant-Man and Wasp?" Thor asked, but everyone ignored him.

"I can't believe you two are homemade _superheroes_," Tony had practically gone into shock. "Hank! And _Janet!_ Superheroes!" he ran a hand through his hair.

I simply shrugged. "Meh. I saw it coming."

"What are we going to do with you?" Tony asked, sitting back down and shaking his head to himself.

It was the Captain, of course, who took the lead. "I vote we let them stay. They've already been helping a lot. Besides, we could use extra supers around here."

"Yeah, but we don't know if they're trustworthy," Tony shot back.

"I've been your best friend for ten years, and _now_ you're deeming me untrustworthy?" Hank raised an eyebrow.

"You neglected to tell me about Pym Particles and your ant-ness!"

"You didn't tell me you were Iron Man at first, either!"

"That's different."

"How the — what? How is that different?"

"Okay, everyone, just calm down," Bruce got up and stood between Hank and Tony. "Does anyone know Hank and Janet well enough to trust them?"

Tony reluctantly raised his hand. "I guess they could be an asset to the team," he grumbled. "They already know practically all our secrets, anyway."

"Let's have a vote: who wants Hank and Janet to help us with this Mandarin case as Ant-Man and Wasp?" Bruce asked. Everyone slowly put up their hand for the "yes" option.

"It's decided then," Bruce clapped his hands. "You two are honorary, _temporary_ members of the Avengers."

"YESSS!" Janet jumped up, squealing. "Yes yes yes! Thank you, everyone!" she smiled brightly, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"You're going to have to show us what you can do, though," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Excitedly, Janet raised her hands and, much like Tony and Sam did, shot a burst of energy out from her palms. It went straight through the window, cutting a clean hole in the glass.

"Not now, you moron!" Tony yelled.

"Hey! Don't talk to my wife that way," Hank stood up, glaring down at Tony.

"What are you going to do? Get a bunch of ants to crawl down my throat and shut me up?"

"TONY! Control your ego!" Sam smacked him on the leg. "Every time there's some new sort of variable in the room — like Steve a few months ago — you start acting all weird," she scolded.

"Ooookay," I drew out the word. "Meeting over. There are just _way_ too many different personalities in this room."

Sam glanced at the time on her phone screen. "Shit, I have to get ready," she swore. Janet jumped to her feet, following Sam out of the room to her bedroom like a lost puppy.

"Uh, yeah. I have to go, too," Steve inched away. Thor walked around awkwardly without any real place to go, like he had been doing for the past few days, as Hank and Bruce headed back towards the lab. Tony went over to the minibar, pouring himself a tall glass of vodka.

"You ever had your best friend tell you they're a weird-ass superhero?" he asked me.

"Uh, no."

"Oh. Well, it's quite a shock to the system."

"I gathered."

"Tell me, Clint," Tony swirled the drink around in its glass, "what do you think of this whole Mandarin mess?"

". . . I'm just glad Natasha's back," I responded truthfully.

"Huh. Good answer," Tony frowned.

We snacked in silence for a long time, each of us lost in our own little world of thoughts. Our trances were broken by Steve, who walked into the room wearing a suit and tie.

"Look, it's the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan," Tony said mockingly. "What the hell are you wearing?"

"Um. A suit," Steve looked nervous. "What do you think?"

"I think _why_?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you wearing a suit!"

"I, uh, have a date," Steve said uncomfortably, and looked at the ground.

"And why am I only hearing of this now?" Tony snapped, getting up and walking towards Steve.

"I didn't think it really mattered to you," he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

Tony clapped him on the back "Of _course_ it matters! I can't believe Steven Rogers actually got a girl in this day and age! What'd you do, threaten to bore her to death with your World War Two stories if she didn't go out with you?"

"That's Tony's way of saying congratulations," I sauntered over, clapping him in the back. "Congrats though, Steve. I gotta admit, even I never saw this coming."

"Thanks for the confidence, guys," Steve said sarcastically. "I'm really feeling the love here."

"Now you sound like Sam," Tony grinned. "But seriously, what's up with the suit? You taking her to a funeral?"

"Uh . . ."

"Honestly, this is just pitiful," he shook his head. "Where's Janet? She's the fashion guru; she'll know what you should be wearing. Anyone know where Jan is?"

"She's helping Sam get ready for a date," I shrugged.

Tony's eyes widened. "Wait, what? Sam has a date too? Why is this the first I'm hearing about any of this?" he looked ready to throw a tantrum. "Are you and Sam double-dating, or something? No, wait. I bet she has an actual date, and you're just supposed to keep her date's sister entertained. Ah? Ah?" he elbowed Steve in the ribs.

But judging by the growing redness on Steve's face, I could tell it was something different. "Uh, Tony . . ."

Finally, Tony figured it out. I mean, it certainly took him long enough. "Wait a minute," he narrowed his eyes, taking a step back. _"SAM'S_ your date!"

Steve's immediate blush and glance towards the floor was all the answer Tony needed.

"Okay, that's it, we're getting you out of this suit. RIGHT NOW. Clint, come help me find something appropriate for Steve to wear," Tony began pushing the blonde soldier out of the room, towards his bedroom. "You should wear jeans, Steve. Jeans and a t-shirt. Maybe a concert tee. And ditch the forties hair."

"I like his hair," I tilted my head to the side, rummaging through Tony's closet as we stepped into his room. "It's very forties-style."

"Exactly!"

"Sam likes his old-fashioned-ness."

"Yeah, but she's a modern girl. She doesn't want to go out with someone who's dressed like her _grandpa_," Tony shot back, sitting a dumbstruck Steve down on the bed. "Wait, I've got it. You asked Sam out during camping, when I sent you two off while I made dinner," Tony snapped his fingers. Steve nodded, almost afraid to speak. "I knew you liked her!" Tony grinned. "I just didn't think you'd have enough balls to actually do anything about it!"

"You think this is what Jan's doing for Sam?" I asked randomly, pulling an old pair of Tony's slacks out of the back of the closet. "Like, sitting her down and forcing her to try things on?"

"No, no," Tony headed into the bathroom, looking for a clean toothbrush. "I'm sure whatever Sam's going through, it's much worse. How much you wanna bet that she's going to turn up in a short, tight dress and heels?"

"I bet you twenty bucks she _won't_ wear that," I grinned over my shoulder.

"Deal. You'd better get ready to pay, Clint," Tony teased. "You don't know Janet like I do. She's going to get Sam into the most provocative thing she can find. Besides, I think Sam's a girly-girl at heart." He shoved a toothbrush into Steve's mouth and forced him to brush.

"Five dollars says her hair will be curled."

"Sure. And ten that she'll be wearing half of Sephora's make-up counter."

"Fifteen that Janet and Sam are placing bets on what Steve's going to wear," I snickered.

"Okay, this is ridiculous—" Steve started, but Tony shut him up by ripping Steve's jacket, shirt and tie off.

"Here, try this shirt," he said, thrusting a pile of fabric into Steve's hands.

"And these pants," I threw another bundle at him.

"Can't I just wear my own clothes?"

_"NO,"_ Tony and I said at the same time.

After six different shirt changes and three pairs of pants, Tony and I were finally satisfied with our work. Steve wore blue jeans (it was a strange sight, let me tell you) and a tight dark-green t-shirt. We broke and let him wear his brown leather jacket.

"You know, I'm not actually dressed in anything that much different than normal—" he started, but Tony and I both shut him up with a look.

We paraded him out into the living room, feeling a sense of pride in our work. Thor actually did a double take. "Steven Rogers, you look almost . . ."

"Modern?" Tony added in helpfully. "That's the idea."

We had a few minutes to kill before Sam came out from her room. Tony decided to spend that time asking awkward questions. "So . . ." he started off, wiggling his eyebrows. "You and Sam . . ."

Steve unfortunately couldn't use the "we're just friends" excuse anymore.

"Have you guys gone out any other times without my knowledge?" Tony narrowed his eyes inquisitively.

"Um, this is our first date," Steve sat ramrod straight.

A thought suddenly occurred to Tony. "Is this _your_ first date? Like, ever? With anyone?"

"I've gone on double dates with Bucky before," Steve's face twitched hopefully. "And I asked Peggy out, but we never, well . . . never got to _go_ out . . ."

Tony started laughing. "This is dear old Cap's first date!" he howled, finding it hilarious for some reason.

Okay, I'll admit it: I laughed a bit, too.

"I wasn't much to look at, back then," Steve shrugged defensively. "Besides, with a friend like Bucky always at my side, the girls never even glanced my way."

"Have you kissed anyone?" asked Tony, howling with laughter.

Steve beamed proudly. "Well yes, actually."

"Oh, thank God," gasped Tony, trying to regain his breath. "The dating thing is pretty basic though, Steve. Even you should be able to get it down easily."

"Hey!"

"No offense, my man. Basically you take her out. Tell her how pretty she is. Make boring small talk until she invites you back to her place, or vice versa. Then you two get down and dirty, and voilà! You leave in the morning without even saying goodbye. Comprende?"

Steve looked downright horrified.

"Don't listen to Tony," I shook my head, moving to stand in front of Steve. "It's simple, really. You tell her how pretty she looks, and keep complimenting her throughout the evening. You drive; you pay for everything. About halfway through the date, reach out and hold her hand while you're walking. If you really like her, then intwine your fingers."

"You sound like a sappy tween gossip magazine," Tony yawned.

"Hey, I get bored in grocery store check-out lines, okay?" I turned back to Steve. "Make sure to keep the conversation focused on her. Girls seem to like that. And do gentlemanly things, like opening the car door for her."

"He's Steve Rogers. He does that anyway."

"Shut up, Tony. Anyway, make sure to walk her right up to her door after the date's over. Or, in this case, down the hall before you go to your room. Then, if the date went well and you want to see her again, give her a quick kiss on the lips. Emphasis on quick! No making out. And sometimes girls don't like it when you kiss them on the lips on the first date, so watch for the signs."

"Hey, I just realized something," Tony tapped his foot. "We should stop calling you Hawkeye, and start calling you Cupid. You've already got the bow and arrows, and now it seems like you're the expert at playing matchmaker, too."

"He's doing a better job of explaining than you are," Steve defended me.

"Call me Cupid one more time and I'll personally make sure you never get another girlfriend in your life," I growled.

Just then, Tony's attention was diverted to something over my shoulder, and I turned to see Janet walking down the hall with Sam. I heard Steve's breath catch in his throat when he saw her. God, that guy had it bad.

Her hair was curled, and her make-up, though minimal, was impeccably done (Janet's work, of course). Sam was wearing salmon-colored skirt that ended at her knees, exposing her leg cast, along with a white tank-top and a jean jacket. On her feet were simple ballet flats.

"Don't comment on my hair or makeup!" she squeaked when Steve stood up from where he was sitting on the couch. "Janet did it. Please don't say anything," she held her hands in front of her face.

"Sam, you look . . ." Steve trailed off, checking her out. He caught me eye, and I urged him on with a nod of my head. ". . . Beautiful."

"Okay, I'm getting out of here before this turns overly mushy," Tony announced loudly, ruining the moment.

"Ah ah ah!" I snapped, turning towards him. "If my calculations are correct, you owe me . . . thirty-five dollars."

"You guys were placing _bets_?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised with a dangerous look in her eye — but then to everyone's surprise, she turned and walked out of the room.

"Did she just . . ." Tony's mouth was open.

"Did Sam just ask a question and then leave? Why yes, she did," I replied. "It's a bad habit of hers. Better get used to it." Tony rolled his eyes.

Steve took a deep breath, looked to us for confidence, and then walked out after her. I couldn't help but wish them luck on their first date.

And hey, maybe playing Cupid wasn't so bad.

* * *

**Author's Note: So obviously, the next chapter will be their date :)**

**I don't own anything, except maybe Sam and my story ideas.**

**Thanks to everyone who read the last chapter, and thank you to the great people who reviewed: _Laurafxox, Comiccrazygothgirl, TA-TwinArmageddons, Selvet, jaa162, PJ-NCIS-TF-26, ClarinetRox88, 16, StarViky_ and_ LianaDare8!_ Thanks to everyone for all your kind words :3**

**Until next time, guys, and don't forget to leave a review, telling me what you think! As always, READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Lexi**


	13. Ice Cream

Steve Rogers' POV

"_Without ice cream, there would be darkness and chaos."_

― _Don Kardong_

Well, looks like I'm in charge of writing about my first date with Sam.

I know I had been acting awkward around her ever since I realized I liked her. I couldn't help it. But I was hoping that on the date, maybe we could get back to our seamless "friend" talks. You know, the ones _without _the awkward pauses.

I thought a lot about Clint's advice on the way downstairs to the garage. _Hold her hand. Kiss her goodnight. _Those things had never occurred to me before. By the way, Clint: thanks for the advice. I never really got to tell you how much I appreciated it.

Going on a date was weird, to say the least. The last (and only) time I had asked a girl out, it was Peggy.

I used to think about Peggy a lot. Our entire conversation from when I crashed the plane was burned into my brain. It was just so hard to accept that, even though I had liked her so much, I had hardly even gotten my chance with her. Peggy had been so headstrong, and she was the first girl who had even payed attention to me.

Did I love Peggy? No. I hadn't known her long enough; hadn't gotten close enough to her. But I had certainly liked her a lot. She was the first girl I had legitimately been attracted to — and who had returned those feelings.

Now, I think I just missed her.

But I had Sam now. Sneaking a glance at her out of the corner of my eye, I admired her long lashes, straight nose and curved cheeks. All things I hadn't noticed before. But she looked beautiful tonight, and I felt so strange, standing alongside her. I was born so long ago, and here I was now, about to go on a date with Sam – a modern girl.

She was the complete opposite of Peggy. I mean, they were both pretty headstrong, but that was where the similarities ended. That made it difficult for me to constantly compare Sam to her — and thus, made it easier for me to simply enjoy Sam's company, rather than always thinking of Peggy.

I wondered what Peggy would say if she saw me now. "Straighten up, soldier," maybe. She'd say it in that chin-up way of hers, too.

And what of Bucky? He was my best friend. No, he was more than that — he was a brother. I missed him more than Peggy; I had known him longer. Bucky had never cared what I looked like, or what I was good for. He was just my friend because he was my friend.

At least I had a bit of closure with Bucky. When it came to Peggy and the others, I hadn't gotten the chance to say goodbye. But Bucky . . .

His death still hurt; I still believed it to be my fault. But after spending so many months in my Brooklyn apartment between my awakening and the battle with Loki, I had come to terms with things. Sure, I had depression — but I also had a lot of time to do some serious thinking. And I had since forgiven myself — and most importantly, Bucky — for his death.

I really wished I could know what he would say to me, right here, right now. Even with my new super-soldier-ness, he'd still probably be surprised that I was going on a date with a pretty girl. Bucky had always been the womanizer. But now . . . well, I wouldn't call myself a ladies' man, but if I wanted it, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have trouble attracting the girls.

Okay, that's the Tony side of me talking. He's been rubbing off.

I don't know what had made me ask Sam out. We had been sitting in that field by ourselves, I remember, and she had looked at my drawing. For some reason, my feelings for her had felt so strong and consuming that weekend that I honestly wanted nothing more than to keep her in my arms. I couldn't stop thinking of her. And seeing her freak out that morning, and being in so much emotional pain, made my feelings that much stronger. I wanted to be the one to protect her from something like that in the future; I didn't want her to go through it again. At least, not without me there to protect her.

My emotions had reached a boiling point then, when she kissed my cheek. I know I had been flustered and made a fool out of myself, but it had seemed like proof that she liked me. And that was all the reason I needed to know if she wanted to go out with me.

Now here we were, on our first date. I didn't know how dates were supposed to work nowadays, so Sam was in charge of this one. I don't really think she had anything in mind; probably just wandering around and talking. I was perfectly fine with that.

"Can we take your motorcycle?" was the first thing she said to me as we rode the elevator downstairs. Sam ran a hand through her curly hair, looking down at the floor. "I've always wanted to ride it, I guess. Sorry if you want to take the car," she covered up quickly.

"No, it's okay," I nodded, scratching the back of my neck nervously. "We can take the motorcycle." It proved quite a challenge, trying to get Sam, her cast and her crutches onto the cycle. But eventually we figured it out and sped off, as she gave me directions through the city.

We stopped at an ice-cream parlor down in the middle of Manhattan. I felt out of place among all the cars and bright lights and billboards, but Sam pulled me inside before I could fully being to process — and overanalyze — things.

We ordered ice cream cones to go, since apparently the date wasn't just to come here. Sam got chocolate in a waffle cone with sprinkles; I opted for a cookie dough scoop in a normal cone. Cookie dough had always been my favorite.

"Where are we going now?" I asked as she grabbed my hand, dragging me out of the store. I thought of Clint's advice about holding hands, but he said halfway through the date. It wasn't halfway over yet – I hoped.

"Now, we stand here and eat," she smiled at me, licking her cone as she stopped walking. We were standing in front of a fitness centre with glass walls, so that you could see right in at the people working on the treadmills and with the weights.

". . . What, exactly, are we doing?"

"We're eating ice cream in front of the fitness centre," she answered simply.

"Well, yeah, I figured that part out."

She started giggling. "It pisses off everyone inside. They're all in there, trying to lose weight and stay healthy. Meanwhile, you and I are out here, reminding them of the temptation of ice cream and just being fat-asses in general. If we're really lucky, someone will come outside and tell us to go away."

I didn't really see the point of all this, but did it anyway. Eventually, Sam's giggles became contagious, so that I started chuckling too. As more and more people inside started giving us dirty looks, we started to laugh so hard we couldn't eat our ice cream.

We stepped away then, walking down the street as we finished our cones. "Sorry about that," Sam blushed. "At my school, it was a teenage rite of passage. Just like coke and mentos."

"What's that?"

She turned towards me, eyes wide in horror. "Oh my God. You don't know the coke and mentos experiment?"

"Should I?"

She shook her head in disbelief. "Okay, let's find the nearest grocery store. We are doing this in the park right now."

At the store, she bought a two-litre can of diet coca-cola and a package of the little candies called mentos. In a nearby park, she set it up, opening the bottle and setting it on the ground.

"Stevie, you might want to step back," she said, giggling as she opened the mentos package. I had no idea what to expect, so I put a good ten feet between myself and the bottle.

Sam dropped five mentos into the bottle all at the same time, and then ran for cover towards me. The coke sprayed upwards in a sudden geyser, soaking the ground beneath it in an explosion of pop. I stared at it wide-eyed, surprised and thoroughly entertained.

"Can we do it again?" I asked, and Sam laughed.

"C'mon, soldier. I want to show you something."

We took a walk through the city then, as Sam steered us towards some unknown location. "Sam," I asked randomly, "when you move out to Washington for university, will you still come and visit? Maybe find a job back in NY?"

A strange look passed over her face, and it took her a minute to answer. I recognized she wasn't telling me something, but didn't comment. "Uh, yeah. Sure," she said, but then changed the subject. "When I get an apartment, I want to have one blank wall that I can just draw on."

"I thought you said you were no good at art?" I asked, as we skirted around an old woman on the sidewalk.

"I'm not. But I want a wall where I can go and paint anything I want when I'm feeling angry, or sad, or happy," she shrugged. "Does that make sense?"

"Sure."

"You can have a corner, Steve. To draw what you want," she added. "I'm sure Tony will demand for a corner bigger than yours, though."

I smiled. "He loves us in his own way."

"You're the last person I would have expected to say that."

"Well, come on. He's not as bad as he pretends to be."

"I know, I know," Sam shook her head. "I think he likes you, Steve, although he makes fun of you a lot. He just wants to establish that he's the best man in the house. The 'Alpha Male'."

"I knew his dad," I said suddenly, and she looked up at me in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Howard Stark. He was a friend, I guess; an ally during the war. He's the one who gave me the vibranium shield."

"That's so cool," a grin split her face. "Well, I mean, it's kind of weird, but . . . well. You know."

"Tony's just like his father," I couldn't help but say. "Sort of. Howard was loyal and brave and Tony, well, Tony's working on it. He's getting better. But he can be so infuriating!"

"Tell me about it," Sam shook her head. "How'd you meet Howard?"

"Well, I first saw him at a fair I attended with my friend Bucky. And then Howard was there when I was turned into a super soldier."

"Ah. Tell me about Bucky, Steve. You always mention him in passing, but you never . . . well, you never elaborate."

"Bucky was my best friend," I sighed, as the memories came flooding back. "He was a good-looking guy who stood by my side. I used to get beat up a lot, and it was always Bucky who came to save me. He stuck with me through everything. When I became Cap, well, that was weird for him. Normally, Bucky was the one everyone looked up to; the one that all the girls chased after. And then along came Cap, and he was shoved to the background."

"Was he upset about that?"

"I don't think so, actually. He had spent so much of his life trying to get people to notice me that I think it was a welcome relief for him."

"He sounds like a great friend, Steve," Sam kicked at a pebble with her crutch. "Do you know what happened to him? We can go to the library, and—"

"No, there's no point," I said grimly. "I was with him when he died. We were on a mission, and he . . ."

"It's okay. You don't have to talk about it."

"No, I want to. We were on a train, trying to capture Doctor Zola — he worked for HYDRA. Part of the train was blown open, and I . . . Bucky was left clinging to a bit of metal. I reached out for him, I really did try to save him, but the metal broke and he fell down a chasm."

"I'm sorry, Stevie," Sam reached out to put a hand on my back. "I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't matter anymore," I swallowed. "I doubt he could have survived that fall. It just makes me feel terrible, because it was my fault."

"Aw, c'mon, Steve. It was not," Sam chided. "He died doing his job for his country, did he not? He died to save you."

"One of the things he said to me the night before was 'If it really comes down to it, Steve, the world needs a Captain America more than it needs a Bucky.'"

"I'm sorry," Sam said again, sighing heavily.

"What about you? How are your friends?" I changed the subject.

"Penny's still my best friend," Sam brightened. "I can't tell her I'm Masquerade, but we keep in touch. My other friend Dana, though . . . She hates me. She rightfully blames me for burning down our high school — for not saving her when her leg was crushed. I guess it's karma now, huh?" she glanced down at her cast. "Dana won't even look at me anymore, but at least I have Penny. And my ex-boyfriend Mark has become my friend again."

"Oh, right. That guy," I thought of the band concert night.

"Steve, are you jealous?" she smiled, teasing. "Are you turning green? I thought that was Hulk's color!"

"Ha, ha," I poked her in the ribs, and she winced. "Oh, wait, God, I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay," she gently probed her two broken ribs with her fingers. "It sucks, you know? Having to let them heal on their own. I've been having really bad sleeps the past couple nights, too. I think it's because of the painkillers."

"But do your ribs hurt?"

She shrugged. "Nah. I can't really feel them. Probably overdosing on the drugs."

"Sam . . ."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," she grinned and shook her head.

"Oh."

We passed by a designer shoe store and a large crowd of girls, not much younger than Sam. "Hey, do you want to go for dinner at McDonald's?" she blushed then. "I'm going to warn you, it's not a very nice place. All they have is food that makes you fat. But you've never been there, so I thought . . ." she trailed off, and then blushed again. "And I kind of have a chocolate milkshake craving right now."

"Sure," I smiled. "Why not?"

"Let's take it to go, and then eat in Central Park."

"Alright, that sounds like a plan. So shouldn't we turn around and head back to the motorcycle?"

"Uh, no. I wanted to show you . . . something . . ." she said distractedly, peeking around the corner of the block. "Here it is. You might've seen it, I don't know, it's kind of old . . ."

We emerged in a tiny square, with quite a few people wandering around in it. Right in the centre, on a raised platform, was a statue.

A statue of Captain America.

It was undoubtedly me — I could tell by the jaw line, the small smile, and the body build. I was in my full Captain costume, too, with the vibranium shield strapped to my arm. In the other hand I held a rod, connected to the American flag. While the whole statue may have been carved out of grey stone, the flag was real, colorful and blowing in the slight breeze.

"_In loving memory of Captain America, America's new hope_," Sam read from a plaque below the statue. "This thing was erected just after your supposed death."

I stared up in awe, not quite believing my eyes. There were countless bouquets of flowers littered at the statue's feet, along with a few burning candles and even some pictures. They all looked new, and I had to guess that they had been placed there by thankful citizens right after Loki's attack.

I turned my head to look at Sam then, ripping my gaze away from the noble statue. She had an open, hope-filled expression on her face as she gazed up at it. Slowly, I reached out and took her hand in mine — entwining our fingers, just like Clint had said to do if I _really_ liked her.

Sam started, looking over at me. I smiled just like the statue and she blushed slightly, looking quite content as she squeezed my hand.

"Let's go for a boat ride on the lake in the park after dinner," she said, and a strand of hair fell in front of her face. "We have enough time."

Silently, I reached out and brushed the hair off her face, letting my fingers trail along her cheekbone. Sam looked downright bashful as I cupped her face in my hand.

"Sounds good. Goodbye, Cap," I turned and saluted the statue.

"Oh, you big moron," she laughed, smiling at me and tugging on my hand.

I tried to hold her hand as we walked down the street, but it proved to be rather difficult because of the crutches. Eventually, we had to abandon the effort, laughing.

"So, this'll be your first time at McDonald's, right?" Sam asked as we headed through the city, back towards where I had parked my motorcycle.

"Yeah, I think so. Tony talks about it all the time, but I've never been there. Just like I've never been bowling."

"We'll have to change that!" Sam exclaimed. "Didn't they have bowling in the forties?"

"Yeah, but it never interested me. It wasn't that popular."

"When was the first time you went to a movie, Stevie?"

We talked about firsts then; everything from movies to food to airplanes.

"My first time in jail was in tenth grade," Sam said casually at one point. "I've told you about that before, right? I used to shoplift," she said grimly. "I'm not really sure why. I liked the thrill, I guess — I felt as if my life didn't have enough excitement. It's the opposite now," she scoffed.

I gave her a look. "I don't do it anymore!" she held her hands up in defense.

"Yeah, but the way you say it's your 'first' time makes it sound like you're planning on another," I said, and she stuck her tongue out at me.

"What about you? What's a first that you _haven't_ had?" she asked, as we finally reached my motorcycle.

"Um . . ." I coughed awkwardly. "I've never had sex." I stared hard at the bandage wrapped around her head, avoiding her gaze. "And who wants a ninety-three-year-old virgin?"

"I do," Sam joked, giggling a little as I smiled back at her crookedly.

The conversation then turned awkward all of a sudden, as I tried to help Sam and her cast onto the motorcycle. "What about you?" I asked, although judging by the awkward silence, I already knew what the answer was.

She sighed heavily. "I . . . no, I'm not a virgin. I had sex with Mark in the eleventh grade. Biggest mistake of my life," she groaned.

"Hey, it's okay," I said as I grabbed her crutches and got on the motorcycle myself. "Everyone makes mistakes, right? So long as you don't get pregnant," I tacked on at the end, and she chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever, Steve. I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," I said, brushing her hair off her face as she blushed, flustered. I was glad to see that our conversations had returned to normal now — there were no more awkward-Steve pauses.

We drove off, and Sam directed me to the McDonald's nearest Central Park. I do have to admit, I started a bit when she pressed her chest against my back and wrapped her arms around my waist, even though I knew it was normal motorcycle-riding stance. Still, it made my heart race.

Sam convinced me to go through the drive-through, but the talking black box that said 'Welcome to McDonald's, how may I help you?' perplexed me so much that she ended up having to place our order. We bought more food than we could easily carry on the motorcycle, so we had to park and then walk the rest of the way to Central park. Sam got a normal-sized meal, with her special chocolate milkshake, but I had wanted to try nearly everything on the menu – and thus, our order had been huge.

"Look, it's not my fault I'm hungry," I said as I scooped everything up and carried it all, so she could walk with her crutches. "Thor and Bruce have practically been eating Tony out of house and home, so there's no food left for me. Besides, with my high super soldier metabolism, I eat a _lot_."

"I'm pretty sure Clint just lives off tea now," Sam snickered. "Between you, Thor and Bruce, there's never any food left for him."

"Hey, I barely get enough as it is! Bruce is basically eating for two, and Thor's, well . . . Thor."

We found a nice, grassy area in the park to settle down, spreading the food out around us. Of everything I tried, the apple pie was (without a doubt) my favorite. I resolved to go back and buy more of it to take home to Stark Tower.

"Have you done any new drawings?" Sam asked me, slurping at her milkshake loudly as she picked at her cast.

"Actually, yeah," I pulled a tiny sketchbook out of my leather jacket pocket. "Do you want to . . .?"

I didn't usually show people my drawings, so having Sam look through them was a strange thing for me. I felt shy at first, but eventually started to explain things to her. There were a few landscape drawings in there, of stuff from the war; a couple of drawings of things I found lying around Stark Tower; a few sketches of my fellow Avengers. I'm ashamed to admit there was a picture in there of Tony with devil's horns, but it made Sam giggle madly.

I drew my feelings in there a lot, too, not that Sam could really tell. Whenever Tony made me feel stupid, I generally drew myself as a monkey in tights. But recently, my feelings for Sam had inspired me to sketch other things, like two cats with their tails entwined. Sam found that especially cute, because she loved cats so much.

Other drawings in there, too, were inspired by her — the silhouette of a couple, my rendition of Helen of Troy, a band playing a love song, a gorgeously huge tree standing beside a meek sapling.

Sam happened upon another picture that I drew because of her. She laughed when she saw it, holding it up to the dimming light in the sky.

"Are these the Roman gods, Steve?"

"Yeah," I blushed. "You always talk about how much you love Roman mythology, so I kind of drew what I thought some of the gods looked like."

"Does Jupiter have _Thor_'s face?"

"They're both the god of lightning," I said defensively. "It made sense to me."

"No, no, I think it's brilliant!" a grin split her face. I began to clean up our trash, and I threw it in a nearby garbage can as she examined the picture. "Okay, is Minerva — the goddess of wisdom — supposed to be Tasha?"

I nodded, pulling Sam to her feet. "Let's go for that boat ride."

She put the sketchbook away for a bit, while we walked to the lake in Central Park and rented one of the rowboats they had. I rowed, of course, and we were out in the middle of the lake in no time. Sam pulled out the sketchbook again, looking at it in fascination.

"Oh, this is perfect! Clint is Apollo, the god of archery," Sam sounded pleased that she had figured it out (and yes, I really had based the appearance of each god and goddess on those of my fellow Avengers). "So Bruce is Vulcan," she traced her finger over the lines on the paper, "and Tony is Mars, the god of war!" she began to laugh.

"I'm Neptune," I pointed to one of the people of the page, shifting so I could sit beside her in the boat.

"But you're not . . . you don't have anything to do with the sea," Sam giggled.

"Who else was I supposed to be?"

She ignored my question, though, when she noticed the goddess who had her face. "You sketched me as Venus," Sam raised her eyebrows, giggles gone.

". . . Is that okay?"

"It's . . ."

"I can change you to Diana, if you want," I said hurriedly.

"No, Steve, this is incredibly kind," her voice took on a softer edge. "You know what Venus is the goddess of, right?"

I scratched the back of my neck. "Beauty and love."

Sam leaned her head on my shoulder, and I took it as a chance to put my arm around her. "Thanks, Stevie," she said gently. "That's actually so kind of you."

"Um. You're welcome, I guess," I frowned, and she flipped to a different page in my sketchbook.

We regarded the next drawing together, in silence. I had to admit, it was one of the more personal ones — inspired by my feelings for Sam, of course, and not exactly meant for others to see.

It was a complicated sketch of a party — a masquerade, to be more precise. There were people all over the page, all dressed up and wearing ornate masks. A few of the party guests were obviously my fellow Avengers, hidden here and there. The centre of the sketch, though — the focus — was a couple, dancing in the centre of the page.

The girl, who was meant to be Samantha, had on Masquerade's purple and silver mask. Her blonde hair was longer in the picture than it was in real life, and her stance was different to Sam's actual one, but it was still obviously her. And the man she was dancing with — whose lips she was nearly touching with her own — was obviously me.

"I think this is my favorite drawing of yours, Steve," Sam said softly. "It's beautiful. Quite stunning, actually. You have talent, Stevie, but this . . ."

I pressed my lips to the top of her head, kissing her gently. "Thanks," I said awkwardly, blushing. "Look, there's a picture I did in here of you sleeping. It was done while we were camping," I added, flipping to the page.

"I was awake when you started it," Sam admitted, tracing her fingers over the lines my pencil had made. "It's so detailed, Steve — so realistic. Honestly, your work is flawless."

"Thank you," I said humbly as she handed the sketchbook back and I pocketed it. We leaned against each other, floating around in the middle of the lake in Central Park. A thought struck me: "Sam, how's your father doing? You heard from him at all?"

"No," she scoffed. "There's a restraining order, remember? And even if he could get around it, I wouldn't talk to him anyway. Sure, I lived under the same roof as him before S.H.I.E.L.D picked me up, but now that he's gone . . . I want him to stay out of my life. It's harsh, I know, but he kinda fucked everything up." She scratched at a patch of skin above her cast. "Luke's talked to him, I think. He was quite close to my father; it really hurt him when Dad went all crazy on us. So I think he's trying to ignore it all, and keep up a distant relationship."

"Tony told me your mom was moving . . .?"

"Yeah, she sold the house. Now that Dad's gone and I'm moving out, she decided the house was too big for her and Luke alone. They've bought an apartment in Chicago, close to the high school."

"Won't that be a nice change? Getting out of the house with all the old memories?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, ending the conversation. "I think it'll be good for them. Mom, I'm sure, will enjoy it. Luke . . . maybe not so much."

I looked down at the sad, broken expression on her face, and in that moment, I wanted so badly to kiss her; to fill that yearning need that was crawling through my body. I wanted to fill myself with Sam, with her smell, with her taste. I wanted to feel her body against mine, responding to my kisses enthusiastically. I wanted to touch her like no one had done before; hold her, caress her, and I wanted her to do the same to me. I wanted to take her pain away, protect her, and fill her with a different sort of desire; I wanted to feel her hot skin against mine, to hear her pleasure at our passion. It was during that moment that I realized I _wanted_ Sam.

Was it wrong that it didn't scare me?

We didn't do any of that, though — just broke apart and rowed back to shore. It was getting late, and it was time we got back to Stark Tower before Tony sent out a police squadron to look for us. I wouldn't put it past the guy to do just that.

We kept up our laughing and joking on the way back to the motorcycle, throughout the whole drive to the Tower, and even up the elevator. Once we stepped into the penthouse, though, we reverted back into our surprisingly awkward ways.

There was no one in the hallway. Either everyone had gone to bed early, or JARVIS had told Tony we were back and he had forced everyone to retreat to their rooms. The latter seemed to be a more likely option, I decided as we walked down the hall.

"Um, okay," Sam said, stopping by her door. "Thanks for the date, Steve. I had a _lot_ of fun," she chuckled to herself, looking down. "We should do it again sometime . . . sometime soon."

"Yes," I agreed enthusiastically. "I really enjoyed spending time with you . . . and only you," I blushed, nodding as she opened her bedroom door and began to step inside. A thought suddenly struck me. "Uh, Sam?"

"Yeah?" she turned, eyebrows raised.

"Um," was all I said (brilliant, I know) — and then I leaned down and kissed her.

It was a soft, gentle kiss, like Clint had suggested — just a light peck on the lips, even though we both had our eyes closed and were both probably itching for more. Sam's lips were soft and pink underneath mine, and I had the urge to wrap my arms around her waist and pull her in closer for a longer, and more intimate, kiss, but I backed off right after the short, soft one we had just shared.

"Goodnight, Steve," Sam said quietly, smiling wider now. I saluted her and she closed the door, leaving me alone in the hallway.

There was a hushed whisper at the end of the hall, and I turned to see Tony, Janet and Clint, exchanging money.

"Told you he wouldn't start making out with her," Clint was saying to Janet.

"Yeah, well, it was Tony who said, and I quote, 'He won't even have enough balls to kiss her.'"

"My advice is the best. That's why he followed it," Clint said smugly, collecting all the money.

"You guys were betting on us again?" I exclaimed, storming down the hallway.

"Clint," Tony said nervously, "are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Clint just stated at me in terror.

"Run!" Tony finally exclaimed, and the three of them turned and fled.

I sighed, not bothering to go after them and instead letting myself into my room. I had better things to do — like think about the amazing date I had just had.

Besides, I wanted to draw Sam — I wanted to draw every aspect of her that I could remember from our night out. It had been a date that I didn't want to forget, and sketching was the best way I knew how to keep the memories.

And hopefully, they wouldn't be the last.

* * *

**Author's Note: I don't own the Avengers or anything in this story, except Sam and the plot ideas etc.**

**WE MADE IT PAST 200 REVIEWS! I actually can't believe it. I've never had a story reach 200 reviews (while working on it). Honestly, your support is mind-numbing and I could not ask for better readers. Thank you all so, so much for reading and reviewing. You make this so enjoyable and fun :3**

**Extra thanks to the wonderful reviewers from this time around! _La Bella Figura, ClarinetRox88, clarinetgirl628, brandibuckeye, Comiccrazygothgirl, 16, GoForTehGig, StarViky, akatsukigurl93, HannajimaShields, LianaDare8, noway, Wolf Eared Girl, Laurafxox, WhatTheF-HaveUDoneLately-Cross, Lady Firewing, A Contradiction_ and_ roxxirox_! **

**Thanks again to everyone for reading :) please review this chapter and let me know what you thought of the long-awaited date! I tried to make it, er, realistic. Like a normal-people date, rather than an actual superhero one :P if it didn't meet your expectations, don't worry — there will be lots more Sogers stuff in the next TWO chapters! Anyway, please review!**

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**- Lexi**


	14. Said Fred

Sam Silverman's POV

"_Who're you going with, then?" said Ron.  
"Angelina," said Fred promptly, without a trace of embarrassment.  
"What?" said Ron, taken aback. "You've already asked her?"  
"Good point," said Fred. He turned his head and called across the common room, "Oi! Angelina!"  
Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.  
"What?" She called back.  
"Want to come to the ball with me?"  
Angelina gave Fred a sort of appraising look.  
"All right, then," she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.  
"There you go," said Fred to Harry and Ron, "piece of cake."_

― _J.K. Rowling, __Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

WELL FINALLY.

It took everyone bloody long enough to give me the goddamn journal back! Technically speaking it's _my _freaking journal, and it was _my _idea to start this whole let's-write-everything-down thing! And now everyone's suddenly taking an interest in it, passing it around to write in while I have to sit by idly and twiddle my thumbs. Natasha's been the biggest journal hog of them all, too! Who would've thought _she _would have such an interest in this? Ever since Steve asked me out, it seems like everyone's had their freaking say about our relationship. Everyone _except me_. I thought I was the girlfriend here! The one actually _in_ the goddamn relationship!

Ahem, okay. Moving on.

I woke up that morning, had breakfast, blah blah blah. Strangely enough, no one mentioned anything about my date last night. I didn't know if it was the calm before the storm, but I wasn't about to go around telling Tony all the details. Or Janet, for that matter. She kept hinting at it, though, and I knew I wouldn't be able to keep the gossip from her for long. I finally saw Steve after breakfast, sitting on the couch in the media room. He had his WWII journal open in his lap, and he was sifting through the pages.

I really liked Steve. I liked his courage, his shyness and awkwardness; I liked his humor and kindness. I was falling for this guy pretty hard. He was just so perfect.

Our date yesterday had made me so happy. Everything Steve had done, from trying to hold my hand to our little kiss at the end, had been so gentlemanly. I admired his old-fashioned ways.

One of the points we had talked about on the date was how hard it might be for Steve to go out with a random, unknown girl. He wouldn't be able to tell her he was Captain America, and thus he couldn't tell her that he was from the forties. And if I didn't know that, Steve's strange behavior would have confused me. But I _did_ know, and so I admired the way he acted as if he was still in the past. Only Steve could be such a unique man, living in this century.

I still couldn't believe that Steve liked me back. It gave me a fuzzy feeling, I'll admit it, to know that he felt the same as I did. Our date had been so wonderful, and Steve had even said we should do it again. I hadn't felt this kind of hope since . . . well, I don't know. It was different than what I had felt with my ex-boyfriend, to say the least. This was more grown-up; more serious and adult.

I thought of the Miley Cyrus song then. Yes, I was a bit ashamed to be listening to "Stay", but it was a beautiful song, filled with so much pain and sorrow. I had loved it since I was an impressionable girl who was a Miley fan, and I still loved it now. In my head, I thought of it as mine and Steve's song, although it was about a breakup — which we thankfully hadn't experienced. Yet.

_Say you love me more  
Than you did before  
And I'm sorry it's this way  
But I'm coming home  
I'll be coming home  
And if you ask me, I will stay  
I will stay_

I peeked at the drawing he was staring at so intensely. It was of a beautiful woman with curly, dark hair and gorgeous brown eyes. PEGGY CARTER, the writing underneath said.

That reminded me of everything Tasha had said to me. She may as well have told me, "you'll be killing him. He's already lost one love and one lifetime. Are you really so selfish that you're going to throw away _everything_? So selfish that you'd start a relationship with him just a week before you leave?"

Was it really a week, though? That we had been in a "relationship"? I mean, sure, it will have been a week since we'd started calling it that. But when I thought of all the times we shared the same blanket on the couch, all the times he held my hand when I was upset . . . it made me think that maybe we had this coming for a while now.

I gulped, thinking of Rome. I knew I was making the right choice for myself, that was for certain. Ignore the Avengers, and I had nothing left here. Not even my mom and my brother gave me enough incentive to stay. I had wanted to be an archaeologist for so long, and thanks to Tony, I was getting the chance. I loved history; I loved Rome. Europe had always entranced me. Starting a new adventure — a new life — in another part of the world was such a magnet. I knew that was what I wanted with my life: to stay there and study and learn until I was old.

But I didn't know if I was making the right choice for others. Tony — well, he could just hop on a jet and visit me. He made trips to Europe all the time, anyway, with work and all. But what kind of effect was this going to have on my family — both the biological one and my new super one? I'd miss my four-in-the-mourning chats with Clint; my rare Natasha sightings. Even Pepper, I'd miss.

And that brought me back around to Steve. It wasn't just the soldier I'd be hurting. How did Tasha think it made _me_ feel, to like Steve so much and then leave before anything real could happen? I had honestly wanted to make things work with Steve. I would've done anything, I felt that strongly.

But Tasha's points about how _Steve_ would feel were all probably right. He'd lost so much, I knew that. It was hard for him to open up and put on his "Steve" face. Being Captain was easy enough, but just being Plain Old Steve hurt him. It reminded him too much of the past. And who was I, to befriend him like I had and then leave? To drop him so suddenly; to abandon him? Steve told me about how he went into depression, after he woke up. What kind of effect would _my_ disappearance have? He had specifically said how much my friendship meant, since it was his first new one. But I had made the choice to leave . . . and Tasha was right. It would be pretty damn hard to come back and start over if I changed my mind. I doubted the Avengers would accept me again so easily.

But then there was the hero aspect. I wanted to be a superhero just as much as I had when Fury first picked me up: basically, _I didn't want it_. I hadn't chosen to have powers; I hadn't chosen this life. It was forced upon me.

I killed _seven people_ in an earthquake. Seven innocent, helpless civilians. I was a screw-up; an uncontrollable mess. How could the Avengers possibly even want me on their team, while I was so unstable? Masquerade wasn't a superhero; she was a joke. I was more of a bad guy than an Avenger. As a young adult with no training and no experience whatsoever, I still didn't understand why Fury had decided it would be a good idea to give me a costume and a mask. All I was going to do was mess things up; hinder all the good efforts of the Avengers. I was a distraction.

Being a superhero was keeping me from achieving my own personal dreams; the dreams I had since I was young. Why did it have to be so unfair? I mean, I appreciated everything that everyone was doing for me. But it seemed that everything I wanted was taken away from me because of my powers — and it wasn't by choice. At least, not _my_ choice.

"I promised her," Steve interrupted my inner turmoil, obviously noticing I was standing behind him, "that I would take her dancing. 'A week, next Saturday, at the Stork Club. 8 o'clock on the dot. Don't you dare be late.' That's what she said."

"I'm sorry, Steve," I leaned against the back of the couch. "I can't even begin to imagine . . ."

He turned around suddenly, startling me. "Sam? Will you go dancing with me?"

"Steve," I picked at a loose thread on a pillow, "I already told you that dancing nowadays is a lot different than your dancing was. It's a lot less . . . innocent."

"No," he said, standing up. "I meant right here. Right now. Will you dance with me?"

I looked up, a bit confused. But he held his hand out for me, and I slowly took it, not taking my eyes off him.

"I have a broken leg," I reminded him, but he just gave me a little smile as he walked around the couch.

"It's okay. I don't even know how to dance," Steve led me into the middle of Tony's living room.

"Then how are we supposed to do this?" I laughed. "I only, uh, know how to dance the modern way . . ."

Steve took my left hand and put it on his shoulder, holding my right one in his left. He then placed his other hand on my waist, and pulled me closer to him, so that there was only a little bit of space between us.

"Just something nice and slow, all right?" he said softly, as I became acutely aware of how close our faces were. I gulped, nodding and unable to get any sound out.

Steve led me through the steps gently. At first, we stumbled a bit, banging into each other's feet, but slowly we got the hang of it. It was hard for me to move with my cast on, but Steve was a gentleman — he made sure to go slow enough so that I could keep up, and he never stepped on my toes.

"I thought you said you couldn't dance?" I teased, as Steve pulled me closer and tightened his grip on me.

"I've watched Bucky dancing with girls enough times to generally figure out how it goes," he said. "I had always been the one on the sidelines, drinking a beer while he was off having fun and flirting with all the ladies."

"Yeah, but now look who's dancing," I said, and Steve smiled sadly.

He pulled me in again, so that our chests were now touching as we danced around the room in a slow, leisurely circle. Something flickered in the corner of my eye, and I turned my head to see Natasha, giving me a _look_.

Steve noticed her at the same time, but his reaction surprised me. In truth, I had expected Steve to jump away guiltily, blushing. But instead he just pulled me closer, holding me tighter as he smiled at Natasha. I knew I was in trouble then (and that, in due time, I'd be getting another lecture from Tasha).

Tasha sighed, shaking her head. "Well, it certainly took you two long enough."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Oh, come on. We all knew you guys were going to end up together eventually."

Steve and I both blushed, speechless.

Natasha rolled her eyes as Tony walked in. He did a double take when he saw us: he took one look, walked out of the room, and then walked back in as if making sure we were real.

"Tony, did you expect from the start that these two would get together?" Tasha asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tony grimaced. "Yes. We all did. It was inevitable. As much as I hate to admit it, everyone could see it coming. Even before you guys."

Tasha turned and walked off, but Tony cocked his head to the side, examining us. "Okay, this is just pitiful. JARVIS! Put on some music."

"No!" Steve cried, shaking his head. "No. I'm enjoying the . . . dancing-without-music thing. Besides, I don't think there's any song slow enough for the speed that we're dancing at," he chuckled lightly, and I felt his chest rumble beneath my own.

"Fine, whatever you say," Tony waved us off, grabbing an apple from the kitchen and then walking out of the room.

We kept dancing in comfortable silence, until there was something I wanted to say so badly I felt like I was going to explode. "Steve," I started, "have you ever noticed the difference between love and . . . love? Okay, wait, sorry. That made sense in my head," I giggled. "What I mean is that there's a difference between love and being _in_ love. Like, I love my mom. I love Luke. I love my friends and basketball and blonde hair. And I love you, and even Tony. But I'm not _in_ love you with you. No offense," I hastily tacked on at the end.

"I think I get what you mean," Steve said slowly. "Everyone loves different things. But there's that one special person that you're _in_ love with. And typically, there's only that one person. You can't be in love with your friends, and a t-shirt, and a song. You can love them, but you can't be _in_ love with them."

"Exactly," I sighed, resting my head on his chest. After a long pause, I couldn't help but add, "Did you love Peggy?"

"Is that what this whole conversation was leading up to?"

"No, I actually wanted to say those things," I smiled, breathing in Steve's smell. "I was just wondering."

He took a deep breath. "Yeah, I loved her. But I wasn't _in_ love with her. It's just . . . hard," he shook his head slightly. "I never got any closure with her. She was the last person I talked to, back in my day. And I never got that special date of mine. That's why," he held me tighter, "this means so much to me, Sam."

Our dancing slowed until we stopped completely, just standing in the middle of the living room in each other's embrace. Steve wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me even closer than before as his other hand pressed lightly against my back.

I thought of our kiss yesterday: just the tiny one, a quick peck on the lips. I had ached for so much more, though. I thirsted for Steve; I wanted to press myself close to him and take in as much as possible. And as I wrapped my arms around his neck, I could tell that he felt the same.

I felt his lips on mine without seeing his face come closer. He was just suddenly _there_, kissing me softly, cautiously. He strained away then, as if afraid he was doing something wrong; I pulled him back down to me in response.

Steve kissed me then, _really_ kissed me. He was so gentle in the way he did things, from the way he held my body against him to the way he touched my face as we kissed. Ahh, and what a kiss it was! Steve was an amazing kisser, I had to admit. His lips were so warm against mine, and I held him to me as tightly as I could as we just kept kissing.

It felt so good, to be so close to him. To finally be sharing a _real _kiss with Steve; to feel his hands on me, responding to my actions just as enthusiastically.

Everything about it seemed flawless; seemed bright and brilliant. Every moment of that kiss, I cherished. And I could feel all his emotions in it: all his pain and loss and sorrow, but also all the new hope.

It was me who broke away from the kiss. I didn't want to, but . . . I couldn't breathe.

Broken ribs are a tough thing to fix. You can't bandage them or perform surgery on them; you just have to let them heal on their own. Even though I had two broken ribs, the only thing the doctors had given me was painkillers.

One of the side effects of broken ribs is that it's difficult to breath. That was true for me — I now actually had to think about taking deep breaths, and even through the painkillers it still hurt a bit.

But Steve had been holding me too tightly; his arms had been squeezing me into his chest. It didn't help that he had enhanced strength. That's wasn't the only reason for my breathing issues, either — my heart had been pounding and I had been excited, which typically makes a person become short of breath. Plus, we were _kissing_ — and that doesn't really include much breathing.

I had to pull away from him and bend over, putting my hands on my knees while I coughed and tried to breathe normally again. Steve, of course, immediately panicked, but I waved him off.

"I'm fine," I wheezed, straightening up. He reached out for me again, but I winced when his hand came in contact with my midsection. "It just — hurts."

Steve pulled back, looking apologetic. "Sam, I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have —"

"No, no," I shook my head. "It's just — it's hard to breathe," I blushed, thinking of all the romance stories I'd read where the heroine found it difficult to breath whenever she was near her love interest. It was the same for me — except it was due to health problems, not a weird mental romantic state or whatever.

Hank paraded into the room then, with Janet in tow as he called out for the other Avengers to come and join us in the living room (which had apparently become the official meeting room). Tony and Natasha appeared way too quickly, and I got the feeling they had been watching us.

Hank was a strange sort of man. While I had gotten to know Janet quite well — she was an incredibly open person — Hank was still a mystery to me. He didn't really talk much; mostly just kept to himself. I didn't know if it was because he was working so hard on this case, or if he was naturally like that.

I still wasn't sure why he was helping us with this — and I don't think Tony was sure, either. He had sort of just . . . invited himself. But he was Tony's friend, and Bruce Banner seemed to trust him, so we went along with what he said.

"I've deduced a few things," Hank began, before everyone had even sat down. I noticed Thor standing beside Jan and snickered — she looked like a _dwarf _compared to him. Hank shot me a look, so I shut up.

"This," he smacked the teleportation box down on the table. "Is robot technology. It _came_ from robots. The Winter Soldier and the Mandarin are working for a robot named Ultron."

"I can already tell this is going to raise more questions than it answers," Tony grumbled from the corner. "Besides – we already _knew _they're working for Ultron."

"From what information I've gathered," Hank ignored him, "Ultron was built by humans but then turned rogue. He may be an Artificial Intelligence system, but he has full control over himself and has consistently updated his robot body from what it originally was."

"How do you know all this?" Bruce Banner asked. "I was with you in the lab the whole time, and yet, nothing like this ever came up."

Hank looked down, avoiding Bruce's gaze. "I've been watching the news for the past while, that's how I know. If you search it, there have been a lot of stories about a 'robot' supposedly invading manufacturing plantations and stealing parts. He's killed a few people, too."

"Any idea why he might be allying with the Winter Soldier and the Mandarin?" Clint asked, picking at the tassel on a pillow.

"Uh," Hank paused awkwardly. "I don't, uh, I don't know. Why do villains usually wreck havoc? To rule the world, I guess."

There was something fishy about this man; something I couldn't quite put my finger on. Judging by the way Tony was narrowing his eyes at Hank, I could tell he felt the same. "You and I are going to have a long talk, Hank," he said. "Right now. Meeting adjourned while Hank and I go out on the town," he announced.

"Tony, I really don't think—" Hank started, but he was cut off.

"You have a lot of explaining to do. Things in your story aren't adding up," said Tony. "Bruce, come with us. I want . . . backup," he said slowly.

"What, do you think I'm the villain or something?!" exclaimed Hank, obviously upset.

"We're not talking about this right now. Let's just go." Tony grabbed the man and tugged him towards the elevator, Bruce hot on their heels as everyone else disappeared quietly and awkwardly.

"Clint!" I called out, as he made himself some tea. Shuffling over without my crutches, I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Can you . . . Can you help me with something?"

"Yeah, sure. Anything," he answered, shrugging. I glanced over at Steve, who had picked up his World War II notebook again and was flipping through it for like, the billionth time.

". . . Not here," I said, half-smiling. "Let's go to the lab."

Tony may have been off yelling at Hank, but that was his problem to deal with. Me? I was planning something. Something big.

* * *

**Author's Note: This'll just be a quick note :)**

**Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I wrote this a long time ago; had to do some heavy editing today. It was fun, though. Please let me know what you think — and what it is you believe Sam is planning!**

**As always, special thanks to those wonderful reviewers: _Comiccrazygothgirl, Human-Wolf Hybrid No.008, GoForTehGig, HannajimaShields, brandibuckeye, Selvet, Wolf Eared Girl, Lady Firewing, ClarietRox88, 16, roxxirox_ and_ Laurafxox_! Special thanks to those of you who always review consistently :D**

**Until next time, everyone, and thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think. But for now . . . **

**READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Alexa**


	15. Better in your Future

Steve Rogers' POV

"_You can't look back - you just have to put the past behind you, and find something better in your future."_

― _Jodi Picoult_, Salem Falls

"Can't you please tell me where we're going?"

"No. Turn left here, Clint," Sam said, ignoring me.

I was sitting in the backseat of Sam's silver Ford Focus (Clint had rescued it after the Mandarin's attack), completely confused as to what was going on. Yesterday afternoon, after Sam and I kissed and Hank shared that mysterious information about "Ultron", Sam had gone off with Clint and done . . . something. Whatever it was, they weren't sharing it with me. Instead, they had been whispering to each other behind my back and exchanging secret looks all day.

Tony, Bruce and Hank had returned late last night (and by late I mean in the early hours of the morning), all of them grim-looking. But no one would say a word to me about what was going on over on that front either, and so once again, I was left in the dark. As Sam liked to point out, we were just muscle power — they didn't need us working in the lab. And thus, we were excluded from whatever this secret conversation was.

All day Sam had been acting mysterious, but at least she had come up to me and asked to go out tonight. What I had _not_ planned on was Clint coming along.

"Take a right, now, Clint — no, no, no, the OTHER right — watch out, you're going to hit that pedestrian!" Sam tried to direct him down the busy Manhattan streets. She put her head in her hands, groaning. "Why did we let YOU drive?!"

"Because it's unsafe for you to drive with your broken leg," I answered from where I had been shoved in the backseat. "And apparently Clint knows where we're going, while I do not. Why won't you tell me?"

"What time is it?" sighed Sam, checking the car clock. "Ah, 7:56. We have four minutes."

"Until what?"

"Shush, Steve," Sam scolded, and an incredulous look crossed over my face.

"What did I do wrong?!"

She turned and looked at me, her eyes raking over my body. "You look really nice tonight, Steve."

"Why do you keep avoiding my questions?" I asked, but blushed at her compliment anyway.

Before we left the tower, Clint had come barging into my room, demanding he dress me for tonight. To my surprise, he had actually put me in a suit — and what was more, a suit in my normal forties style. It even had all my ribbons and medals from the war on it.

Clint was dressed formally too, in a regular suit and tie. Sam looked especially pretty tonight as well, although I'm pretty sure Janet didn't dress her. I guess that maybe she was trying to impress me, but honestly, I had seen her in sweatpants with her hair up and no makeup. I didn't _need_ to see her get dressed up.

A little voice in my head told me that she was dressing up for Clint's sake, but I shook it away. She was wearing a tight floral summer dress, with watercolour flowers in multiple colors. Her hair was curled again, too, and half pinned-up. To my greatest surprise, she wore forties-style makeup, complete with the red lips. Kinda like Peggy's used to be.

Although if I'm completely honest, the innocent look was ruined by the leg cast and bandage on her head.

We finally arrived at our mysterious destination, and Clint pulled up in a parking spot right outside the door to the building. He went to help Sam get out of the car, but she waved him away in a panic. "It's 7:59! Get Steve inside! Right now!"

"What's going on?!" I asked, completely perplexed as Clint latched onto my arm, dragging me out of the car and into the building. I had about two seconds to look at the sign hanging above the door. _Stork Club_, it read.

My stomach dropped, and I turned around to look at Sam in a panic. She just sat in the passenger seat with a gentle smile on her face, waving slightly as Clint pushed open the door to the club and led me through.

"You're late, Captain. By 70 years. I told you to be here at 8:00 on the dot."

"Technically, it's 7:59," Clint added in suavely, as my eyes found the speaker.

An elderly woman of maybe 90 was sitting on a stool by the bar, looking straight at me and ignoring Clint. She had on a loose red dress, and her white hair was curly. But I knew who she was without a doubt because of her eyes — those deep, chocolate brown eyes that I knew I'd never forget.

"_Peggy?!_"

She slid off the stool, walking towards me slowly. "You haven't changed a bit, Captain Rogers. It's funny — I thought you would've looked different at ninety years old. Guess it's only me that's aged."

I stood there with my mouth open, unbelieving as Clint inched away, leaving us alone. "Close your mouth, Captain. You'll catch flies in there," Peggy tapped me on the chest.

The band — a live, forties-style one — started playing something slow.

So I wouldn't step on Peggy's feet.

She led me gently onto the dance floor, and we began to dance. I hadn't said anything the entire time, but no words were needed — I just danced gently with the fragile, elderly Peggy Carter, and she looked up at me with the same smile she used to have back when . . . back when I last saw her.

She taught me how to dance, then. It seemed I had been doing it alright, which made me proud. Sure, I had been an amateur, but I knew the basic steps. Peggy continued to smile at me as the band finished their song. Someone gestured to them to start another, and I turned to see Clint and Sam sitting at the bar, smiling like fools. Clint winked and Sam blushed, looking between Peggy and me happily.

"You know," Peggy started, as I held her gently, "when I saw the news reports about the Avengers and Captain America, I couldn't believe it. 'Someone else must be wearing Cap's costume', I thought. But when I watched some of the footage from the fight, I knew without a doubt it was you. I wasn't sure how you had come back in this day and age to fight, but I knew it was you."

I spun her around slowly, as she continued to speak in her strong British accent, which she had retained after all these years. "Your girlfriend called me last night. Told me everything — about your suspended animation, the Avengers, your new relationship with her and how you wanted closure with me. I agreed to meet you here. It was her — Samantha — who set this up."

"Peggy, I . . ." I trailed off, unsure how to continue.

"I may have been the right dance partner once, Captain," she held her chin high, "but now, I can see that Samantha is your new match. She cares about you a lot, Steve. The fact that she actually called me and set this whole thing up really proves it. Apparently that Agent Barton helped her track me down."

I hugged Peggy, squeezing my eyes shut tightly to stop them from watering. "I can't believe this," I finally managed out.

Peggy laughed, pulling away so we could dance again. Clint and Sam stepped onto the dance floor too, but they were a train wreck — Sam had a broken leg and Clint, well, Clint couldn't dance.

"She's pretty, you know," said Peggy, looking over at Sam. I finally realized that the reason Sam had gotten all dressed up was to impress Peggy, not me or Clint. "And she told me she's Masquerade. Steve, I really think-"

"Peggy, I'm so sorry," I cut her off, the words rushing out of my mouth all at once now that I was no longer in shock. "I've gone over my last moments in the war countless times in my head, trying to think up new possibilities for how things could've turned out every time. I — it wasn't fair of me, to leave everyone. I lost everything," my voice broke. "I lost you. And you know what I first told Nick Fury when I woke up? 'I had a date.' I'm so incredibly sorry that I didn't get to spend my life with you, because I really did want that; you meant so much to me, Peggy, and I never wanted to cause you all the grief and pain you probably went through. I still don't think there was any way I could have avoided what happened with the plane, but I do wish things could've been different. I'm sorry, I swear, and my loss of you, well, I took that almost as hard as I did Bucky's loss — and as I told you all those years ago, I can't get drunk, so I got depression, instead, and I-"

"Shh, Steve," she said calmingly, her voice slowing the pace of my rapidly beating heart. "It's okay. What's done is done. I moved on, Steve — and you should, too."

That really struck a chord in me, I'll admit it.

"We won the war, Steve. I ended up getting married — and then divorced, but I remarried to someone else a few years later — but I never had kids. Never wanted them. And I missed you, but I had to forgive you. I'm sorry too, but it's over now. I'm just — I'm just so happy that you're actually alive again. Alive and healthy and Captain America."

I held her tighter, feeling the tears come to my eyes again. "I just wish-"

"Don't wish, Steve. Just accept what's happened. Think how things would be different had you not disappeared. The world is fine as it is now, and I'm sure you wouldn't want to change that."

I rested my chin on her frail shoulder, feeling her bones poke through her pale skin. It struck me how old Peggy now was — how long she'd lived. She'd been through so much while I was gone. And maybe she was right — maybe it was better this way.

"How are you doing now?" I asked softly, while the band played on. Clint and Sam left the dance floor, giving up and instead convincing the bartender to make them tea.

"I'm all right. I've been better, but I'm all right. It's great to see you again, Captain, even if I'm ancient and you're, well, you haven't changed a bit," she laughed lightly. Her British accent still entranced me, I found, and being with her again — no matter how old either of us were — made me feel so, so lucky.

I was finally getting my closure.

"Captain? What's your relationship with Samantha like?" Peggy asked suddenly, looking over my shoulder at where Sam was joking with Clint at the bar. "Like . . . are you holding back?"

"Excuse me?" I asked, confused.

She sighed. "Here's some dating advice: don't hold back. Steve, you of all people should realize how easy it is to lose others; how quickly it can happen. You follow me?" She continued without waiting for an answer. "Don't hold back with Samantha because you're afraid of getting hurt again. That's only going to make things worse." She leaned back, looking in my eyes. "Instead, put everything you've got into everything you do. Don't miss a chance to tell her how pretty she looks. Don't let her go off to the grocery store by herself — go with her. Spend every moment by her side. Be there for her! And kiss like every kiss is your last, because as you very well know, it could be," a sad look came into her eyes.

"She's a sweet girl," Peggy finished. "Going out of her way to organize this — to try and understand it — is unbelievable. I think you mean more to her than you realize."

I smiled for the first time that evening: a real, genuine smile, filled with hope. "Thank you, Peggy. Really. Thank you for everything you've done for me, whether it was while I was still around or not. Thank you for your support. And thank you for this dance," I stepped back, bowing slightly. "Really, I . . . thank you."

"Anytime, Captain," she smiled back, saluting me. "I can't believe I've actually gotten to talk to you again. Now go sweep that girl off her feet — but don't forget me."

"Never," I kissed her on her weathered cheek. Peggy smiled again, grabbed her cloak from a hanger by the doorway, and then left. I watched her go, and even though our conversation had been pretty one-sided . . . I finally felt peaceful.

It took me a while to get my feet moving again; to break out of my trance. But once I had, I knew without a doubt that I should take Peggy's advice. About everything.

I walked over to where Sam and Clint were sitting, joking around and drinking tea. In one move, I picked Sam up off her chair and held her bridal-style, which one arm under the back of her knees and the other under her back. She gasped in surprise, her hands struggling to find something solid (it ended up being my suit) to hold on to, until she realized what was happening.

Sam laughed breathlessly, wincing at the pain in her ribs. "I — uh — well — uh, hello, Steve," she eventually settled on. "Did you . . . did you enjoy your dance with Peggy? She's a nice woman, you know, very gen-"

In response, I leaned down and kissed her on the mouth, cutting her off.

Sam started, but then circled her arms around my neck and tried to pull me closer. I broke away to find Clint staring at us in horror, as if he had been petrified into stone.

"Seriously, guys, keep it PG," was all he muttered.

"Sam, come dance with me," I said pleadingly, putting her down gently. She nodded breathlessly as I led her to the dance floor, leaving Clint thunderstruck with two steaming mugs of tea.

Sam held up a finger, requesting a song from the band. They ended up having to plug her "Eye-Pod" into a speaker, in order to play the proper song. I looked at her questioningly, and she blushed.

"This is . . . this is that 'Stay' song by Miley Cyrus."

I took her into my arms then, being especially careful of holding her too tightly — I didn't want a relapse of yesterday. The vocals sounded clearly throughout the club, and I found even myself enjoying the sad, slow tune.

_Well it's good to hear your voice  
I hope you're doing fine  
And if you ever wonder  
I'm lonely here tonight  
I'm lost here in this moment  
And time keeps slipping by  
And if I could have just one wish  
I'd have you by my side_

"Steve, there's something I need to tell you," Sam frowned while we tried to dance around her cast. I shushed her, not wanting to ruin the moment. For once, I finally felt really happy — and most importantly, peaceful.

"No, Steve, it's serious, and I don't think I can keep it hidden any longer," Sam went on, reaching up and running her fingers along my jaw.

_And I love you more  
Than I did before  
And if today I don't see your face  
Nothing's changed  
No one can take your place  
It gets harder  
Everyday_

"What is it?" I asked gently, sensing how nervous and upset she was. "Is everything all right?"

"No. Well — yes. I don't know," she avoided my gaze. "Steve, last night I bought a one-way ticket to Rome, Italy."

_Say you love me more  
Than you did before  
And I'm sorry it's this way  
But I'm coming home  
I'll be coming home  
And if you ask me I will stay  
I will stay_

"Tony . . . Tony's payed for my education at a university of archaeology in Rome. And he's rented me a small apartment."

_Well I try to live without you  
But tears fall from my eyes  
I'm alone and I feel empty  
God, I'm torn apart inside_

I stared blankly at her, not quite sure I believed what I was hearing. "So you're . . . moving to Rome."

"Yeah. I . . . yeah."

"Without me and the others."

She tried to laugh, but it came out strangled. "You see, that's the funny thing."

_I look up at the stars  
Hoping you're doing the same  
And somehow I feel closer  
And I can hear you say_

"I'm . . . I'm putting down the mask. I'm no longer going to be Masquerade."

_Oh, oh, I miss you  
Oh, oh, I need you_

"Steve, I'm — I'm moving to Rome to be an archaeologist and do what I've always wanted to and I'm not coming back. I can't come back. Once I've studied there, I very well can't continue to study Ancient Rome in America. I'm going to move to Rome, and start a new life, and give up my superhero career. It's just . . . this isn't the life for me," she said all in one breath. "And obviously . . . you can't come." Her broken expression was nothing compared to the devastation I knew to be spread across my face.

_And I love you more  
Than I did before  
And if today I can't see your face  
Nothing's changed  
No one can take your place  
It gets harder  
Everyday_

_Say you love me more  
Than you did before  
And I'm sorry it's this way  
But I'm coming home  
I'll be coming home  
And if you ask me I will stay  
Always stay_

I ran my hand through my hair, not saying anything. But our dancing ceased, and suddenly she looked so small and fragile in front of me. "So you're leaving," I said in a dead tone. "Who else knows?" Clint, still sitting at the bar, looked away.

"Um. Tony, Tasha. You. Clint — I told him this morning during our four-o'clock chat. And that's it."

I took a deep breath, letting go of her like her skin had suddenly become burning hot. I needed to cool off — cool my head — so I turned around and stormed away, not bothering to look at her.

_I never want to lose you  
And if I had to I would choose you  
So oh, stay  
Please always stay  
You're the one that I hold on to  
Because my heart would stop without  
You_

I walked to the edge of the bar and stood in an empty corner. Angrily, I took a step back and punched a hole straight through the wooden beams of the wall, enjoying the painful feeling that the splinters now embedded in my fist gave me.

"Steve, I —" Sam's small voice came from behind me.

"Look, I'm not upset because we're in a relationship," I seethed, although that was partially true, "and that you're suddenly letting me go. I'm upset because you're leaving everything behind — even the people who need you," I didn't turn around; instead I glared at the hole I had made in the wall. "You're my best friend, Sam. My only friend. And it hurts that you'd let everything go so suddenly. That all of this —" I threw my arms out, "— you'd be so willing to give up."

_And I love you more  
Than I did before  
And if today I don't see your face  
Nothing's changed  
No one can take your place  
It gets harder  
Everyday_

"Steve, please, just listen to me," I could hear the tears in her voice, but I still didn't turn around to look at her. "I — I don't want to give up all the friendships I've built. But I have my reasons for wanting to quit this life, okay? Really, I — really. There's nothing for me over h-here."

I banged my head against the wall. Was this some sort of cruel joke? Letting me see Peggy — reminding me of what I had already lost — and then forcing me to lose someone else? "Did you bring Peggy so I could see how well she was doing without me?" I asked, feeling my eyes fill with tears. "So that she could tell me all about how she let go of me? Am I supposed to do that now, too – let go of you in the same way?" I shut my eyes tightly, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. How had I gone from being so happy and peaceful to being so upset and angry in such a short time? "Why does Tony have to be so _generous_? Why couldn't he have just said _NO_?" I muttered to myself, punching another hole in the wall with my other fist this time.

_Say you love me more  
Than you did before  
And I'm sorry it's this way  
But I'm coming home  
I'll be coming home  
And if you ask be I will stay  
I will stay_

"Steve, please. It's . . . it's my choice."

I broke then; I turned around to look at her trembling behind me, her expression contorted into worry and sorrow. It wasn't fair of her to say that to me, although there was no way she could've known.

"It's my choice" was the exact same thing I had said to Peggy when I decided to crash the Red Skull's plane. The same thing I said to Peggy to make her let _me _go.

"Fine," I said softly, and all of a sudden all my anger disappeared. The only emotion I was left feeling was, well . . . I guess "empty" isn't really an emotion, huh? "Can we . . . Can we go now? Back to Stark Tower?"

Sam's eyes watered, but she gulped down her tears and nodded. "Yeah. Okay. I'm sorry, Steve-"

"Don't," I shook my head. "Please, just . . . don't."

_And I love you more  
Than I did before  
And I'm sorry it's this way  
But I'm coming home  
I'll be coming home  
And if you ask me I will stay  
I will stay  
I will stay_

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey guys :) sorry for the late update! **

**Special thanks to those wonderful people who did review: _HannajimaShields, brandibuckeye, Selvet, A Contradiction, Lady Firewing, Comiccrazygothgirl, Laurafxox_ and_ 16_! Thank you all so, so much :D**

**BIG NEWS! Okay. So, I've written a companion novella to this story. What's a companion novella, you ask? Well, it's like a short story that takes place alongside the events of this one, or during this one. Whatever. The story I wrote is only ten chapters long, and each chapter is relatively short. It's Sam's diary of everything that takes place while she's in Rome, actually. If you guys want to read it, I'll post it (as a new story, titled "Melting Silver") alongside the next chapter. Well, I'll post it anyway, because (warning!) the events that take place in said novella are quite influential on the rest of THIS story. I introduce only a few new characters, but they're enough to seriously alter the course of things.**

**Here's a bit of a hint: the main supporting character is (not someone who I made up: he's from Marvel comics!) Daken - Wolverine's son. You know Wolverine - that mutant with the three claws. Played by Hugh Jackman. Yeah, that guy. ****Everything will be explained in the diary, of course. But please let me know if you're interested, and I'd love to see you all over there! ****As much as I'd like to keep it a secret that yes, Sam is indeed going through with her plans of moving to Rome, I want you all to read this short story more.**

**Please let me know if you'll read it (in a way, it's like another installment in this series), and tell me what you thought of this chapter! Sam finally told poor Steve . . . oh, and I don't own the song. That's all Miley Cyrus. Seriously, I suggest you check it out - its beautiful. I'm not a Miley fan, but damn that's a good song.**

**Please review; a missed a lot of you guys on the last chapter :) READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Lexi**

**P. S. The Stork Club was real, but it was demolished in 1966. I decided to keep it "alive" for the point of this story, though, since that is indeed where Peggy agreed to meet Steve for their date.**


	16. Her Smile, I'm Sure

Tony Stark's POV

_"Her smile, I'm sure, burnt Rome to the ground."_

_― Mark Z. Danielewski_

Annnnnnnd I've finally got the journal back. Thank god - Natasha and Sam have become such writing hogs. We can barely get them away from this pretty little blue diary anymore.

The day after what Clint called the "fiasco at the Stork Club" (I ended up having to pay for the damage Steve did to the place - apparently the big oaf punched the wall), Sam returned to Chicago to pack all her belongings so she could move to Rome. I have to admit, I was proud of my girl. She was growing up — moving to a different country. Rome was a nice place, too, and I approved.

But not everyone did.

Once the whole team found out about her departure, hell broke loose. Bruce, Clint, Janet, Hank and I all supported her, but the other three? Well, Steve and Tasha were _very_ vocal about Sam leaving. They both decided it was a bad decision — and they made her feel horrible about it. Like absolute shit. I caught her crying her eyes out at one point. Thor was just upset because he wouldn't get to see her anymore, I think - and basically, that was the only reason he disapproved.

It was weird, saying goodbye to Masquerade. Sam gave me the suit and the mask the day she left for Chicago. "You're the one who gave them to me in the first place," she shrugged. "So . . . I don't know. Throw them out, I guess."

I didn't do so, of course. Instead, I shoved them both back in her hands. "As a reminder of us," I told her. "You know. So you don't go all super-villain. You'll always be an Avenger, Sam — you were with us from the beginning."

Her smile was watery as she threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly. "Thank you so much, Tony. I appreciate all you've done so much more than I could ever tell you."

I couldn't come up with a sarcastic retort for that one.

Three days later when she returned to Manhattan (she was flying out of a New York airport), she was already emotionally unstable. It had been hard, I think, for Sam to say goodbye to her mom and brother. And now she was leaving us — for good. Chances were, she wouldn't be visiting half of us ever again.

We sent her off at the airport, of course. Sam was holding off pretty well, even through all Nat's angry looks and an emotional goodbye and thank-you to Clint. Janet cried the entire time, practically more upset than Sam herself. Hank and Bruce were rather awkward, as neither of them knew her very well, but Thor's goodbye was warm. He picked her up in a huge hug, probably re-breaking her ribs. But once Sam had to say goodbye to Steve, she started blubbering like a baby.

"I'm so sorry!" she cried, throwing her arms around the super soldier. He returned her embrace reluctancy, still looking like he couldn't believe she was leaving for good. "Steve, I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear-"

He cut her off quickly. "Just . . . have a nice life." Was that a hint of bitterness I detected in there?

"Are you gonna be okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" said Steve in annoyance. Sam sighed and stepped away from him, an upset look on her face.

"Fine. Whatever, Steve. You know what? Just — I don't know. Forget it," she snapped.

"I'll keep in touch with you, okay? Knock 'em dead, Sammy," I smiled, ruffling her hair as she hugged me.

"I'm not planning on knocking anybody, Tony," she said into my chest, and her voice came out muffled.

"Oh. Right. Then what are you planning on doing with all those magical powers of yours?"

"I dunno. Not use them?"

"That didn't work out so well last time, remember?" I said, thinking of the time she burnt down her school by accident.

"I wasn't in control then, idiot. I know how to use my powers properly now," she shrugged, letting go of me.

"I'm going to miss you guys," Sam grabbed her luggage bag handle and moved toward the security line. "Avengers Assemble, right? Whoo," she attempted a half-hearted cheer, but she wasn't met with any sort of enthusiasm.

"Good luck with your life, Samantha," Nat said icily. Sam's expression darkened, and she looked like she wanted to say something more, but had enough sense to keep her mouth shut.

"Uh, yeah. Okay. Once again, Tony — thanks. And to everyone else, well . . . bye," she looked at Steve sadly, and I was surprised to find him looking back at her with a similar expression.

It was too bad, really. They were a good couple, I thought. Steve was so much happier with Sam around. And Sam really, really liked Steve, I could tell. Captain America and Masquerade were the two misfits, and it seemed they had found each other. They had so much chemistry that I almost didn't find it disgusting to watch them together. Steve and Sam. Sam and Steve. I had to admit, I kind of thought it would last more than 2 — 1 and a half? — dates. I had been _hoping_ their relationship would work out, but I guess, well . . . obviously it didn't succeed. It just wasn't meant to be, maybe.

When Sam disappeared through the gates, waving and smiling sadly, everyone left except for me and Steve. He stood there staring after her for a long, long time.

"She's not coming back, Steve," I shook my head, patting his shoulder. "She's not going to come running back out to throw her arms around you and tell you she is secretly in love with you and that she made a mistake and wants to stay with you forever."

It was then that Sam came hobbling back out on her crutches.

"Steve, I can't leave without a proper goodbye," she said, standing right in front of him while I looked on in shock. "I don't care how pissed you are. But . . . goodbye."

Steve's face remained blank as he reached out for her face, stroking his fingers along her cheek gently. "I'll miss you," he said softly, and I pretended to gag. "We kind of, well . . . we can't really be in a relationship anymore, obviously. Cause, you know, you're living in Italy, and I'm . . . I'm Captain America . . ."

Sam kissed him hard on the mouth, and I looked away in disgust. I mean, really? Didn't they know that in general, PDA was frowned upon?

"I love you, Steve," Sam broke away, as Steve's face turned beet-red. "I'm not _in_ love with you, but I love you. And I love you too, Tony," she turned to give me another big hug.

"Aw, shucks," I said sarcastically.

"Bye, guys. Thanks for all you've done for me. You adopted me and took care of me when Fury dragged me out of nowhere. I'll really, really miss you," she sighed. "Hopefully I'll see you again. But if not, well . . . bye."

Sam disappeared around the corner again, and this time, she didn't come back. I elbowed Steve in the ribs, looking at him in concern. "C'mon, buddy. Let's go get drunk."

"I can't," came his deadbeat reply. "It's an effect of the super soldier serum."

"Tough luck," I frowned. "But let's go. This can't be the first time you've lost someone, eh, soldier?"

He shot me a dirty look then, and didn't talk to me for the rest of the day.

* * *

"Tony. Hey. Hey, Tony. Tony, wake up. Wake uppppppppp-"

I reached out and smacked the intruder with my eyes closed. Whoever it was yelped in surprise.

"Please, Tony, wake up - I - I need you -"

I opened one eye just a crack to see Steve, of all people, standing beside my bed. He was shirtless and in boxers, with his hair unstyled and a bit of a five o'clock shadow - and for once, the good Captain actually looked unsettled.

I groaned, turning over onto my side on the bed. I didn't even know this hour of the morning could exist - it was just after four. "Waddftya whanp?" I managed out; Steve smacked me on the back of the head.

"I . . . I need you to work the microwave," said Steve. "I'm hungry, and I don't know how. I kind of want the pasta from last night's dinner, but I don't want to get it cold."

I finally sat up in bed, angry now. "You woke me up past FOUR IN THE MORNING because you need me to work the fucking MICROWAVE?!"

"Uh . . . yes?"

"Get Clint to do it! He's always up at this hour!"

"Clint's watching James Cameron's _Titanic._ He missed . . . he didn't get his four o'clock visit with . . . he was lonely without . . . he's watching _Titanic_ and won't help me."

"Fuck you, Steve. You hear that? Fuck you," I grumbled, but got out of bed anyway. I was awake now - I may as well make Grandpa his food.

"You could have had anything _but_ reheated pasta, you know," I hobbled into the kitchen, "and not have had to wake me up. Who even eats penne in tomato sauce this early in the morning?!"

"Sorry," Steve looked down at his feet, shuffling over closer to me as I got the pasta out of the fridge, and I examined his face out of the corner of my eye as I shoved the bowl in the microwave and turned it on. He looked haggard; unkempt. _Distressed_.

"Okay, what's really going on? Why'd you really wake me up?" I crossed my arms over my chest, staring him down.

"Because I was hungry," he waved his hands at the microwave, but his voice shook.

"What happened? You have a nightmare?"

He was quiet.

"You miss Sam?"

There was a long pause. "It's not like you even care," Steve managed out.

I frowned; took a deep breath. Then I opened the fridge and brought out the orange juice carton, as I grabbed two glasses from the cabinet with my other hand. I poured the juice and then handed Steve a glass; I took the other one, and sipped at it without taking my eyes off the soldier.

"You wouldn't have woken me up if you really believe that, Steve," I finally said. "You know, despite the fact that I act like an asshole all the time, I do care about the members of this team. You guys are my only family."

Steve took a shaky breath, and the microwave beeped. I hastily pulled the pasta bowl out, stuck a fork in it, handed it to Steve, and then led him over to the living room. We sat, Steve taking another shaky breath.

"You can tell me what's wrong. Believe it or not, I won't judge you," I said, taking another sip of orange juice. "I've been where you are, with the inner demons clawing at the surface. I mean, how do you think it felt to grow up with Howard Stark as a father? There are still times when I fell like a waste of space," I admitted.  
"But not all of us can be gods, like Thor. We make mistakes, Steve. Now - hey. Look at me. _Listen_ to me. You can tell me what's wrong."

He looked at me, as instructed, and took a bite of his pasta. "I . . . well, sorry for waking you up, Tony. You're just, well, the only friend I've got now. And I needed someone - anyone. I felt like I was going to break down."

"This _is_ about Sam, isn't it," I said grimly. "I know this is hard for you, Steve. She was your best friend. Actually, she was more than that. And you've already lost so much; so many people." I took a deep breath. "Losing the people close to you is just one way to go insane. But . . ." I set my orange juice glass down, looking at him intently.  
"You're Captain freaking America, and not only that but you're also Steven Grant Rogers. And the way I see it, you're an amazing guy, and a hero."

"You see, that's the thing," Steve finally admitted. "I'm not beating myself up over the fact that Sam left. I'm upset because I didn't fight for her."

"Steve, I know that this is going to hurt you for a long time, but—"

"No, Tony, you don't understand," he set down his pasta. "I didn't put up any fight whatsoever to keep Sam. I just let her go. It's my fault she's gone. I mean — it's kinda like my friend, Bucky." I settled back as Steve finally explained his emotions. "During the war, I found out that Bucky and his comrades had been sent on a mission against HYDRA, and that they hadn't come back. I had been told he was dead, and that they weren't going to make any effort to rescue the other soldiers. But I fought for them, Tony. I fought for Bucky. I didn't listen when they told me to give it up: I pushed on. I went and rescued the 107th infantry - and Bucky - all by myself."

I nodded, and Steve took a quick sip of orange juice. "Then, back on the train, I fought for Bucky again. I tried to do everything I could to save him. But he still - he still died. It was my fault. And now it's happening all over again," he ran a hand over his face.  
"Sam may as well be dead now, like Bucky. And it's my fault. But this time, it's not because the odds weren't in our favor - it's because I didn't fight for her. What happened to me? Did I lose my drive while frozen for seventy years?! I — I —" he threw his glass across the room; it hit the wall and the glass shattered, spraying tiny bits of crystal and orange juice everywhere.

"I blame myself for Bucky's death. And now - now I blame myself for losing Sam," he finished.

I sighed; ran a hand through my hair. "Steve, it's not fair of you to get angry at yourself over this. You may think it's your fault, but it was Sam's choice. It was _always_ her choice. And let's face it, this was coming for a while. She never thought she was cut out for the hero stuff."

"But she was," Steve moaned, putting his head in his hands. "If I had shown her that — if I had supported her more, shown her why staying here was worth it—"

"I already said it, Steve: everyone makes mistakes. At least you're not an asshole, being forced to rent your house out to a bunch of vagabonds you pretend to dislike," I frowned. "You need to stop blaming yourself for everything, Steve. You're perfect, remember? But you don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. _Other_ people makes mistakes, too. Not every decision depends on you."

We were interrupted by Clint then, who came shuffling into the room, wrapped in a blanket. He had a tissue box in one hand and his face was all puffy; Clint's nose ran, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"It's not FAIRRRRRR-" he lamented loudly. "Why did Jack have to die?! They could have - they c-could have b-both fit on that board-" he sobbed.

I ignored him, turning back to Steve. "Look, the best thing you can do is try to remain optimistic and stop blaming yourself. Oh, and keep beating the absolute crap out of the bad guys."

Steve looked up at me, a sad but thankful expression on his face. "Now come on, you two crybabies," I said. "Let's play PlayStation. Pepper just bought us a whole stack of new games-"

"We can't," Clint wiped his nose with a tissue, sniffling. "Steve fixed the PlayStation wrong."

"Fixed it wrong?" I asked incredulously.

"No, Thor broke it," Steve narrowed his eyes, picking up his pasta bowl again.

"You're the fatass who tried to fix it - you don't even know how to work a microwave!" Clint explained.

"The PlayStation doesn't work because Thor broke it. Not because I 'fixed it wrong'," Steve said firmly.

I was watching their bickering like an Olympic ping-pong game, when something outside caught my eye. On the balcony there was a dark humanoid shape standing there, just _watching_ us. A shiver ran down my spine, but I tried to act like I hadn't noticed anything.

"Hey, Steve? Hit that light switch over there for me, will ya?"

He did so, and the entire outdoor patio was flooded with light. I had to admit, I was proud that my eyes hadn't played tricks on me — there really was a person outside.

The Winter Soldier.

The imposing figure blinked at the sudden light, but pulled a gun out from his belt anyway. "Duck!" I shouted to Steve, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him down behind the couch.

"What? Why? What's going on?"

The sound of bullets being fired ricocheted around the room, and the glass window shattered. Clint ran out (still crying, I might add), dropping his blanket. He returned moments later in his boxers, with his bow in his hands and his arrow quiver already on his back. He had notched an arrow and shot it before I could even blink.

The Winter Soldier dodged the arrow, leaping through my now-shattered window and shooting at Clint. He managed to roll behind the couch just in time, but now all three of us were cowering behind the furniture like, well, cowards.

Steve, of course, had no reservations about doing something reckless. He stood up, grabbing his pasta bowl (pasta, fork and all) and throwing it as hard as he could at the Winter Soldier. But Steve was really just using it as a distraction so he could leap over the couch, towards the Soldier - and then he knocked him in the jaw with his fist.

"How'd he know where we live?" Clint yelled at me, as I crawled over to the kitchen. I grabbed a mixing bowl and used it as a helmet, ducking behind the counter.

"I'm Tony Stark, dumbass," I rolled my eyes. "They know I'm Iron Man. The Soldier probably just came here to kill me — he wasn't expecting you and Captain Underpants to be here, too."

(That was an especially clever statement of mine, I might add, because Steve was indeed fighting in his underpants.)

I peered over the top of the kitchen counter, and Clint fired off another arrow. The Winter Soldier, I had to admit, was quite the opponent. He matched Steve's every move with ease.

Too _much_ ease.

The more I watched them, the stranger it got. The Winter Soldier's fighting moves were like a cross between Cap's and Natasha's — some of the similarities were startling. I began wondering just who, exactly, this guy was — where he had come from, and all that.

"Try to sever his bionic arm from the rest of his body," I whispered to Clint, who continued to fire arrows. He was being careful not to hit Steve, of course, but it still seemed difficult. Although Steve had superhuman strength and speed, the Winter Soldier had guns and that amazing arm. Clint kept missing the two of them altogether.

He tried to do what I suggested, but to no avail. His arrows kept missing, if only by less than an inch. I yanked open the fridge and pulled out some food; as a distraction, I began to throw it at the Winter Soldier.

That was enough. He backed off, shooting at my head again was he leapt out the window. I wasn't just being narcissistic when I said I believed he had been sent there to assassinate me, and only me.

His sudden disappearance was startling, but welcome. Steve collapsed on the couch, and both Clint and I went to sit beside him.

"Well, that was some weird shit," I said. "Completely and utterly random."

"We're gonna have to analyze it," Clint yawned.

"But it's basic, isn't it? The Soldier has finally been sent out to assassinate the Avengers. We're his biggest threat, after all, so he's probably, _finally _been sent to dispose of us. And now, he knows that Steve is Cap. Your identity's been compromised," I sighed, picking up my orange juice glass and sipping out of it as if nothing had happened.

"Well, he doesn't technically know Steve is Cap-" Clint started, but I rolled my eyes.

"Don't be stupid. No one else is the same size as Cap, and fights the same. Let's face it."

"There was something familiar about that guy," Steve mumbled, a puzzled expression on his face.

I yawned. "Whatever. I say it's bedtime."

"But we just - we just -" Cllint stuttered out.

"Oh, shut up, Cupid. Go back to watching _Titanic."_ And on that note I left for bed, leaving Steve and Clint to do the attack analysis themselves.

Simple, really. I'm good at getting other people to do my work. It's a talent.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Hope it's alright that I do review thank-yous in the next chapter, I just don't have any time at the moment - yet, I really wanted to get this posted**.

**(Sorry about the rushed ending of this chapter, by the way) Thanks to everyone for reading, and an extra thank you to those wonderful reviewers :D you guys know who you are, and I can't thank you all enough!**

**Anyway, REALLY BIG AND IMPORTANT NEWS: Melting Silver, the companion novella, has been posted! It'll show up on my profile sometime soon, and I'd love it if you all hopped over there to read it. Think of it as the next installment in this series, because it's kind of mandatory to read - it'll explain things that happen later on in THIS story. The story ID is 8459082, or type into the URL bar (remove the spaces): w t/s /8459082/1/. **

**Gotta run, but thanks everyone - and please review this chapter! READERS ASSEMBLE!**


	17. In One Place

Natasha Romanoff's POV

_In all my years here, I don't think I've ever seen quite so many assholes gathered in one place!  
- The Undertaker_

The weirdest thing happened after the day that Sam left.

Time.

Time happened.

A _lot_ of time happened.

After the Winter Soldier's attack, all hell broke loose. Things were analyzed; put into files; analyzed again. We had new things to research, finally.

I walked into the lab a few days after the rogue attack, to speak with Hank and Bruce. The two men were working diligently at their computers, hardly even pausing to go to the bathroom.

"Fill me in, please," I said, leaning against the doorframe and pushing the red hair out of my eyes. Hank looked up, startled at my appearance; Bruce just kept on working.

"Well, we basically have everything about the Mandarin under control. We know how his rings work," Hank nodded, standing up to walk over to me, "and we know he got that teleporter from Ultron. We also know a bit about his past: he found a crashed Makluan spacecraft and stole the rings from it."

"We've figured out a lot about the Winter Soldier, too," Banner took his glasses off and glanced up at me. "Like what you've told us: he's got a bionic arm, and that he's a former assassin for the Soviet Union. His next targets are the Avengers, it seems. We're going to assume that after he finally got out of his cryogenic state, he was let go: the Russians didn't need him anymore, so now he's on his own. This guy has met up with Ultron, though - he's not done yet."

"He knows the identities of me and Clint," I said. "We don't wear masks. He knows about Tony, since he's an idiot and announced to the world that he's Iron Man. He knows Thor, since Thor's . . . well, Thor. The Mandarin knows that Sam is Masquerade, but Tony figured that since she moved to Rome, she'll be fine. And the Winter Soldier figured out who Steve was during his attack a few nights ago, right?"

Hank nodded. "Tony's ordered a lockdown; he wants us all to permanently reside in Stark Tower until this is over and done with. Bruce, Jan and I will be the only ones allowed out — our identities are safe."

I narrowed my eyes, and began to walk in a circle around Hank. "What's your ploy, exactly?" I changed the subject.

"W-what do you mean?"

"You come in here and act like you're in charge. Like you're _automatically_ part of the family. And yet, you hardly talk to any of us. You're a mystery, Hank Pym. Your wife is just a cover, isn't she?" I tilted my head to the side.

"Excuse me?"

"You invented Pym Particles, and you granted yourself and Janet superpowers," I drawled. "But you haven't explained why you're so eager to help out here."

"I'm just doing my duty to the country," Hank responded smoothly. "I have the tools to help."

"Everyone has motivation, Hank," I stopped my circling and stood in front of him, hands on my hips. "Some much different — more _drastic_ — than others'."

"What's your motivation, Natasha?"

"I have red in my ledger," I said in a deadbeat voice. "But Hank, helping your country is not real motivation."

"Natasha, I don't know what you're doing," Banner said from the corner of the lab, "but Hank's clean. He's not working with Ultron, if that's what you think."

"Don't worry, Bruce. I wasn't implying that," I tilted my head to the side, not taking my eyes off Hank. "But I know there's something he's hiding. You have a skeleton in your closet," I noticed him gulp. "So you come in here and pretend you're just best friends with everyone. You bring Janet in as a distraction, too. We're all so focused on her that you slip under the radar."

"What are you trying to say?" Hank crossed his arms over his chest.

"That until you give us a legitimate reason for being here, you're just as trustworthy as the Mandarin."

"Natasha!" Bruce exclaimed from the corner, looking up.

"No, no, it's all right," Hank waved him off. "I see her point. I have no reason to be here, at least, not in her eyes. And she's right — I'm not a superhero. I have anxiety issues, and I'm a coward. Dressing up in a mask isn't for me. Maybe for Janet — she's always loved the spotlight — but I prefer to work behind the scenes." He walked back to his computer screen, signalling that our conversation was nearly over. "That's why I don't interact with you all very much — I'm more of a hermit than an ant. I like to stay hidden away."

"You still haven't given me a reason for being here." When Hank didn't say anything, I tried a new tactic. "A few days ago . . . Tony forced you to tell him something. Bruce was there, too, weren't you?" I looked over at the scientist, and he quickly ducked his head. "Is that your secret, Hank? Is that why you're here; is that why Tony lets you stay?"

Hank paled, and I knew I had hit a nerve. "It's none of your business. You'll find out in due time, Natasha," he pulled at the collar of his shirt. "Now please leave."

"No, I quite like it here," I shook my head. "Tell me everything you know about Ultron, boys, and then I'll leave."

"We don't know much," Bruce admitted, forcing a chuckle. "He's a high-level intelligence robot with a mind of his own. Apparently he was invented by a human, but then turned on him. Ultron keeps upgrading his armor; his body. We only know this because metallic and robotic parts have recently been stolen from plantations across the world, and they've all been linked to Ultron. Basically, though . . . that's all we know," Bruce sighed, cleaning his glasses frantically. "It's hard to assess the guy when we've never even met him, seem him, heard him . . . the only proof we have of his existence is your account of him, Natasha, and the words of the Mandarin and the Winter Soldier."

"Have you contacted the scientist who originally created him?" I asked casually, running my fingers over my bracelets.

Bruce looked down. "No. We can't figure out who it was."

"Well, maybe that's what you should be focusing on."

"It's not your place to tell us what to do, Agent Romanoff," Hank snapped, using my formal name. "Now we told you what you wanted to know. Leave."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to go back on my promise," I raised my eyebrows. "There's something I need to do. Would you boys mind leaving me alone in the lab for just a few minutes?"

They exchanged uneasy glances, but Bruce nodded. "We trust you, Natasha. Please just try not to mess anything up."

"Don't worry," I shook my head. "I just need to access some S.H.I.E.L.D files, that's all."

Bruce left right away; Hank was a little slower, throwing a sour look over his shoulder as he exited. I pulled up a screen and a keyboard as soon as the door closed behind them, tapping away furiously.

Hank, Bruce, and Tony could do all the research they wanted, but let's face it - I was the only one who _really_ knew the Winter Soldier. It didn't matter how much I told them, they'd never get it. If you ever wanted anything done properly, you had to do it yourself.

It only took a few series of clicks to access the S.H.I.E.L.D servers; see what they had on the Soldier. Basically, it was nothing.

Fine, I thought. Make me do it all myself.

I put my head in my hands, sighing while I tried to think things through. Where could I even start? We didn't have a name or any records. No fingerprints, either. But -

Pictures! Tony had security cameras. After analysis of the incident, we had found that the Soldier had temporarily disabled JARVIS. But the security footage was intact. Bruce had already gone over it, I knew, and found nothing of particular interest - just a bunch of superheroes fighting in their underwear. Quite amusing, actually. Probably worth a few million views if we put it on YouTube.

Bruce had done a facial-analysis, too - where he took a still of the Winter Soldier's face and tried to match it to someone else, anywhere in the world, by using cell phone cameras. It was exactly as we had done with Loki in May – except back then, it turned up results. Now, there was nothing.

I pulled up the picture he had originally used. It was clear, although black and white, and almost fully head-on. I entered the photograph into S.H.I.E.L.D's database, and began looking for matches – but not from the world of today. From decades ago, actually.

It was slow going, so I tried to narrow my searches. The Winter Soldier was an assassin, but he had to get around somehow – I highlighted all security footage from airports, border crossings and train stations. Now, it just needed further specification.

What were some deaths that had majorly affected the Cold War? I knew that was the Soldier's purpose; most likely, he had been the assassin in those cases. I grabbed another computer screen and entered that into the S.H.I.E.L.D databases, too. See – this was something Tony or Bruce wouldn't have searched up, because they didn't know about it. They didn't consider it big enough of a lead.

_General Keller, West Berlin. 1955. _

_Top man at MI6. London, England. 1960. _

_Vice-chancellor of Wakanda. Switzerland. 1976. _

Three deaths that had impacts on the War. There were more, but I focused on these. Isolating the security footage from transportation venues from these three places, during those three years, proved incredibly difficult – but in the end, I got it.

I then ran two tests, so I could pinpoint what I was looking for – If it was really there. While trying to match our photo of the Soldier's face to one from these old security footages, I also ran tests to find faces that looked similar between all three dates – people who had been there all three times.

Bingo.

Within seven minutes, I had my man. Always looking over his shoulder; moving swiftly through the crowd and trying to blend in. No one suspected him – he was American, and dressed like any normal man. But the Winter Soldier was, indeed, in all three places on those dates, either before or after the deaths.

Finally, I was getting somewhere.

I wasn't trying to find him nowadays, like the others. Instead, I was looking up his past, digging through old files. No one had connected the dots back then because they didn't have the proper technology. And I believed that if we could understand the Soldier's background, maybe we'd be able to pin him down and kill him.

So. I had to look deeper into the past, then. I had learned from the Soldier, back when I knew him, that he had been found in 1942. So maybe if I searched up pictures from that year . . .

It didn't take long to get a hit.

And oh, God, what I found was a real game changer.

There were photographs that matched the Winter Soldier. A _lot_ of photographs. And in each of them, it was Bucky's face that stared back at me. Bucky – Cap's best friend and partner, the soldier that fought alongside him throughout the whole war.

I wish I could say that I didn't believe it – but I did. Every picture that I looked at, the face was exactly the same as the Winter Soldier's. In some old footage of the Howling Commandoes, Bucky fought and acted exactly like the Winter Soldier. The similarities were astonishing.

How had no one noticed this before? I guess the answer was simple. People only saw what they _wanted_ to see. And Bucky had been out of all our minds for so long that we had never realized it. The Soldier fought like Cap, too; he had learned all his skills and techniques back in World War II, whether he realized it or not.

_That_ was why he had Steve's old sketchbook. I don't know where he picked it up, but he must've found it somewhere along the way – it was an old, famous Captain America war relic, and he must've felt some sort of connection with it, I guess.

I remember how they always had to re-program the Soldier's brain after every awakening – re-establish the memories in his head. Now I know those memories were fabricated . . . and maybe they had to do it because he was unstable. Some part of Bucky was always trying to take over the Soldier.

I closed down everything I had found and deleted all the history. This was a big find. But until I had proof and more information, I decided not to share it. This needed further research – before I ripped Steve's world apart and put him through hell.

At the very least, I wouldn't tell him until he had gotten over the loss of Sam. It would shatter the poor guy – to lose her, and then a few days later, find out Bucky was still alive – even though he was the criminal that now we had to kill.

. . . This is where the time part comes in.

Months passed. Months and months and months. Almost a full year, actually. And within those months, shit happened.

In September, Thor kidnapped a baby. No, seriously. One day, he ate every speck of food in Tony's house. Obviously that ticked Tony off - and he kicked him out. Didn't say for how long he was supposed to be gone for, but the next day Thor showed up with an infant in his arms.

After further investigation, we found out it was the child of a homeless woman; Thor had taken it upon himself to save the baby from the "life of poverty". Tony kicked Thor out again (after a stern talking to, of course) but sent both the baby and the mother to a women's shelter and gave them a wad of cash. To keep Thor happy, of course - not that he was there to see it.

Thor still got his own baby somewhere along the way, though. Sam's old cat, Trooper, had to be put up for cat-adoption, because he wasn't allowed in the apartment Sam's mom and brother had bought. Well, actually, it had been Steve who adopted Trooper. But it's Thor who's taking care of the cat.

Steve never answered any of Sam's calls – he never talked to her for almost a year. It would be funny . . . except for some of the things that Sam went through.

Yeah, I found out all about it, but it was a little late to help. She got into, shall we say, an "unhealthy" relationship with Wolverine's son, and even had a brush with the criminal underworld of Rome. Sam developed depression because of it, too. She was on the road of self-destruction, and even though she was fully aware of it, she kept going.

I remember when she kept telling us that she wasn't the hero. So maybe that's what happened: a self-prophecy. It's simple psychology, actually. When you believe in something about yourself – even if it's not true – you subconsciously go to lengths to achieve it. And Sam subconsciously became the bad guy she always told us she was.

Even I'll admit that at least in the beginning, she was the hero.

Rewind a few months. To September. After a full month of finding no new information about the Winter Soldier – Bucky – I finally broke and told Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D. He put Agent Maria Hill on the case, and we collaborated to research. As per my wishes, no one else ever found out what we were doing. And it turned nothing up – until November.

Agent Hill had branched off and started to research _places_, rather than people and actions, and she got a lead. It was an old laboratory in Russia that hadn't been used since the Cold War.

I jetted out to check it out right away. I hadn't been back to my home country of Russia in years, and it was weird to be back. Everything was so different than the US, like I had grown accustomed to. But I fit in, and passed right under the radar.

And in that laboratory, I finally found proof – actual, printed documents – about what had happened to Bucky. _Project Winter Soldier: Confidental Files, _the cover said. Thankfully I spoke Russian, for all the documents were written in that language:

_**Doctor's notes -  
**__**5 May 1942**_

_Comrade Karpov's package arrived this morning, though whether we will be able to get anything useful from it is as yet unknown. The physician aboard Comrade Karpov's submarine has speculated that the subject's immersion in freezing water may have preserved him, as it prevented his wounds – consisting of several severe lacerations on the left side of his body and the loss of his left arm at the shoulder – from bleeding out. Since they had not the facilities to test this theory onboard, he was kept in cold storage until he could be transporter to Moscow. They have told me he fell off a cliff after first falling off a train, and that his survival in itself is miraculous. What business he had falling off trains, I do not know._

I flipped through photographs of the Soldier, frozen and being carted around. The "package" Comrade Karpov had sent was the "subject", and the "subject" was Bucky. Looks like the Russians' submarine had picked him up after his fall, found him in a frozen state because of the waters he landed in, and carted him back to Moscow. After reading a few more bits and pieces of the doctor's notes, I discovered that they were only keeping him around because they thought he might have some of the Super Soldier serum in him.

_**Doctor's notes -  
**__**7 May 1942**_

_Yesterday exceed all expectation. Subject's body temperature was increased over the course of several hours, and his wounds were dealt with, to prevent bleeding. When his temperature was close enough to normal, it was as we thought . . . his tissue and blood were still viable. After administering electricity, Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation and adrenaline directly to the heart, the subject awoke. _

_But whatever the reason, though we now have a live subject, there appears to be considerable brain damage. The subject has no memory of his previous life._

_What he does have, as he tragically demonstrated on two of our aides – remarkable with only one arm – are reflex memories. _

_He knows the things he did before; how to fight; particularly, how to speak four languages, including, thankfully, Russian, and many other things. But he has no idea how or why he knows these things. _

_He is nearly a blank slate, but an incredibly dangerous one. Thus, he is being sedated while further testing is completed. _

_**Doctor's notes -  
**__**21 May 1942**_

_Two weeks of work, to no success. A battery of blood tests were run on the subject, but it appears he is nothing more than human. There is not a trace of any additive or "super" formula in his system._

_After much discussion between our superiors and Comrade Karpov, it was decided that the subject is to be put back into stasis, for what purpose, I do not know. _

I read through a bunch of crap about building and attaching the bionic arm, before I finally got to a paragraph of interest, written by the Major General of the KGB's Department X himself:

_It was our own experiments in Mental Implantation during Sensory Deprivation that provided the breakthrough. And because of the American's memory loss, it was quite simple. We were able to reprogram the American's mind. We gave him a purpose, and we made him loyal to no one but us. Once that was accomplished, we had simply to train and prepare him for a field evaluation. Hopes are high that he will be a successful operative. I believe, because he walks and talks just like them, because he exudes "America" with his every breath, that the enemy will never see him coming._

Looks like they implanted their own memories into Bucky's head, in order to get him to work for them. And then - and then they turned him against the country he had spent his whole life fighting for, up until that point.

There were multiple pages, recounting all of the Soldier's missions - and they had all been successes. He had never failed to eliminate a target. A few leaflets in the file had my name scratched all over them - from the times that we crossed paths - but I skipped over those, looking for something, _anything_, that could help us fight the Soldier.

An "Incident Report" caught my eye. Turns out, the Soldier wasn't completely under their control: during a mission to the States, although he eliminated his target, he then went missing right afterwards. Department X found him 3 weeks later living in New York City in a flophouse, five states away from where he had killed his target.

_Interrogation of several civilians in the flophouse left the impression that Winter Soldier was "lost". He was apparently confused about what year it was, and appeared uneasy around the other civilians._

And then I found the best document yet:

_**Project: Winter Soldier  
****Scientific analysis, 7 June 1957**_

_A comprehensive mental evaluation of Codename: Winter Soldier was conducted over the course of the past week. Diagnoses are varied, but most in Dept. X Science Team believe that his mental state is becoming unstable. In the three years since he was awakened from stasis, it appears his mind is seeking to fill in the holes in his memory, or possibly rebelling against the implanted programming he received originally. The subject has recently begun to exhibit more than usual curiosity, even to the point of questioning orders from superiors, and once in the past month, he attacked a fellow operative, nearly killing him. On interrogation, he could not explain his actions._

_One theory is that just as he has reflex-memories, which allow him to be such an effective operative, he may also have a deeply buried sense of who he was, or at least of what kind of person he was. As such, this deeply buried idea may be causing him mental stress and triggering turmoil in his thoughts. Another theory, which is more disturbing, is that he may actually be remembering his precious life, though in small pieces only. It is therefore our recommendation that Codename: Winter Soldier be kept in stasis between missions, and that he undergo Mental Implantation at every awakening. We believe this will correct his instability issues, so he can continue to be of use to Department X._

So Bucky _was _still in there somewhere, trying to get out. He knew that the Soldier wasn't his real identity. If anything, this document was his saving grace.

I bit my lip, looking through more pictures and puzzling it over. If Bucky stayed on American soil long enough, and if he didn't undergo the Mental Implantation every so often, then maybe, _maybe, _Bucky would come back to us. _Maybe _he wasn't as lost as we could be led to believe.

**_Project Winter Soldier -  
__Final Orders  
__4 August 1988_**

_In accordance with Major General Karpov's final orders before his death, Project Winter Soldier has been decommissioned._

_Codename: Winter Soldier has been placed back into stasis after his years in the Middle East alongside the Major General._

_No incidents were reported by the Major General during the time, but it is recommended that if Codename: Winter Soldier is revived from stasis in future, thorough mental re-implantation be done to assure control of the operative._

_Codename: Winter Soldier will be stores at an undisclosed location, along with much of Department X's abandoned experiments._

That was the last document in there: and besides, we knew what had happened afterwards. Ultron and the Mandarin had found him and brought him out of crygenic state. And I bet they hadn't done fancy Mental Implantation to him, too.

It was only a matter of time before the Winter Soldier cracked.

I folded up the files and stuck them in my jacket, clearing any evidence of my presence before I left. I was going to deliever what I had found to Nick Fury; he'd keep it safe and secret for me, until the time came to reveal my findings to the other Avengers. That time was not now; I hoped to ride it out until Bucky came running back to us of his own accord. We didn't need Cap spending all his time trying to find him.

But maybe . . . maybe I was wrong. The Winter Soldier began assassination attempts at every turn; he didn't let up for the entire time Sam was gone. Obviously he was trying to take out the Avengers before Ultron put his master plan into action. And it seemed to me the Soldier wasn't slipping up - his memories weren't coming back.

Tony did indeed put everyone on lockdown, but it wasn't until a few weeks later when Steve went out grocery shopping with Pepper. The Winter Soldier struck then; tried to kill Steve. He didn't even recognize him as the man he had fought alongside during World War II; his partner and best friend. Steve survived the attack, of course (although the grocery store didn't do so well). A few more random attacks happened — Steve was attacked three whole times, Tony twelve (the idiot insisted on spending all his time in public), Clint and I twice each. Thor was fine - after the fiasco with the baby, we sent him to New Mexico for a few months to spend time with Jane Foster, Erik Selvig and their accomplice Darcy Lewis. The Soldier never found him there, and after a while Thor returned to NYC (although he was no longer allowed out of the Tower, of course).

Things slowly began to return to normal; the rules were relaxed, and we took more risks. Although the Mandarin terrorized the city a few more times, it was never anything big - and we never caught him. The Avengers began patrols: two of us would go out on the city each night to protect it, helping out in house fires or stopping civilians from being mugged.

Hank and Janet returned to their home in New Jersey; Steve went back to Brooklyn. Bruce actually chose to stay at Stark Tower, much to everyone's surprise; Thor made the same decision. Clint and I went back to our freelancing S.H.I.E.L.D agent stuff. Tony, of course, just kept on being Tony. Although the Soldier was still trying to kill everyone, there was no other major villainry going on. Things were pretty slow. The worst part was not knowing if it was the calm before the storm.

And Sam? Well, I guess she was okay. I checked in on her a couple times, whenever I was passing through Europe. The first visit was actually right after I found all the Top-Secret files about the Winter Soldier. Sam was sincerely enjoying her time in Rome — she loved the culture and her university courses. I'll admit it: I got angry, because her bad decision was making her happy.

Steve, of course, wasn't feeling so optimistic about the future. He'd already lost one love and one lifetime; with Sam gone, he just got gloomier. She had been his best friend, I guess.

He really did try to move on — even took a girl out for a few dates sometime in January — but Steve was stuck in that black hole of depression. It seemed the only time he was really happy was when he was Captain America, saving civilians from rabid dogs and such.

I spent my Christmas with the Avengers and Pepper. It was . . . well, it was quite the affair. The gift-opening in the morning was unforgettable. Pepper made sure everything was perfect, and we, well, we made sure everything was chaotic. Someone — Tony, I think — even managed to give Steve a pair of Nazi socks.

It was a hilarious morning, to say the least. Pepper gave Steve the entire Harry Potter series, and we didn't see his face for the next two weeks. He didn't even bother to go home — he just sat on Tony's couch and read the whole series in one sitting. Pepper had to force him to put the book down every now and then to eat something or go to the washroom. The only times Steve ever talked to us was to ask a question. It was the cutest damn thing I'd ever seen.

Pepper got all the normal gifts, of course: a stapler, a calendar, lingerie (from Tony, of course), a new phone, even a car. Okay, so maybe a "stapler" wasn't the most normal of gifts . . . but Thor tried. Really.

And where to start with Thor? He got a collection of every single Pixar movie ever made. Well, actually, it was _Pepper _who got that. But Thor stole it.

Oh, and that wasn't even the best part.

Some moron gave him an iPhone. A freaking IPHONE. To a NORSE GOD. To put it politely . . . IT WAS A FUCKING DISASTER.

I knew who gave it to him, too — Tony, of course. He just loves watching chaos unfold. The billionaire spent an entire week teaching Thor how to use it, and entered in every contact number he could think of, from Clint's mom (don't ask) to some hotel in Australia, and from the "sexy singles hotline" to the freaking president. Do you know how many angry calls we got from the White House, asking us to take the phone away from Thor and get him to stop texting the president about whales and random emoticons?!

I received a pair of fluffy pink pajamas (not that I'm going to ever use them), a huge-ass bag of tea (that Clint would undoubtedly use before I even had the chance to open it), and upgrades for my Black Widow bracelets. I wasn't really a Christmas sort of gal, so I was fine with the lack of gifts. Seriously - this was the first time I had ever gotten Christmas presents. Ever. So even the pajamas meant a lot to me.

It struck me as odd, that none of us actually had family to return to for Christmas. Instead, we had diverged at Stark Tower — because the Avengers really were our family now. A dysfunctional superfamily.

And I could see how much Sam's absence was hurting the others. She was, after all, supposed to be an original part of the group.

Things quieted down after that; we went back to our not-so-normal lives, and time moved on.

Some bad news sprung up, in March: Fury and I sat down and had a conversation about the Soldier. He wasn't showing any signs of weakness; even though he was in New York City, he didn't seemt o be regaining memories. Bucky wasn't returning. And Fury decided that maybe Bucky was _gone. _He was no longer in there, period. Even I had to agree - I knew the Soldier well enough to admit that Bucky's return was highly unlikely. The Soldier was tougher than that; Steve's old friend really was gone. And so the message to kill the Winter Soldier went out: we were now aiming for his death.

Thank God I never told Steve that he was really Bucky. The death warrant would've torn Cap apart even more.

Things didn't start to pick back up until May, just before the one-year anniversary of the formation of the Avengers and Loki's attack. It was spurred by Steve, I think. Steve and Thor and Tony.

It was one of the few days I was actually at Stark Tower. Thor had come running into the room, where Steve and Tony were arguing. I don't even remember what it was about - they argue so much that it all blurs together. Honestly, they give me and Sam a run for our money.

Anyway, Thor came boudning into the room, a bar of soap in one hand and his iPhone in the other. "Man of Iron, what is this?" he held up the soap. "I found this block in the room of the bath and I must inquire as to its use!"

"That's soap," Tony shook his head, already knowing what was coming.

"It has a taste most foul!"

"You're not supposed to eat it," I yelled over from where I was rooting through the fridge in the kitchen.

"Then what is the purpose of this block?"

Tony and Steve exchanged a glance, and then unanimously decided it would be pointless to try and explain it to him. "Is that all you want, Thor?" Steve asked.

"No. The Wman of Silver wishes to speak with you through my tiny glowing black box!" he held the phone out to Steve.

". . . Woman of silver?"

"Samantha Silverman," I shouted over, pulling a sealed container of two-week-old Kraft Dinner out of the fridge and throwing it in the garbage.

"I don't want to talk to her," Steve's immediate reaction was, and he started to walk away.

"She says you have neglected to answer all her calls throughout the entire passing of Midgard around the sun!"

"Yeah, Steve, every time Sammy calls here," Tony added in, "she always asks for you. And every time, you somehow manage to evade talking to her."

Steve looked like a deer, caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

I closed the fridge door and opened the freezer, pulling the ice cream tub out. "He still likes her," I said in my best _duh_ voice. "He likes her so much that he thinks it would be too painful to talk to her."

"What?!" Steve exclaimed, looking thunderstruck.

I rolled my eyes. "What, you think Clint and I haven't noticed? We're Hawkeye and Black Widow, for God's sake. We notice everything."

"Okay, that's it. You are getting over this ridiculous fear," Tony glared at Steve, and the blonde guy looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor. "She misses you a lot, Steve. You're hurting her by ignoring her."

"She hurt me when she left," he shot back. "If she misses me so much, then why did she leave in the first place?"

"You very well know why!" Tony shot back, as Thor took another bite out of the soap bar.

"Do I? Do I really?" Steve raised his eyebrows, ignoring Thor.

"That's it, Captain. I'm dragging you off your high horse. You are going to talk to Sam — and you're going to do it in person."

"Excuse me?"

"That's right, Grandpa. You and me? We're taking an impromptu trip to Rome. Right now."

"Tony, we-"

"She has been through a _lot _of shit, Steve, and it's indirectly because of you," Tony pointed at him angrily. "You have no idea what's happened to her." I bowed my head - it was true, none of us had told Steve what went down between Sam and Wolverine's son. It had, indeed, indirectly been his fault - and we had wanted to spare him the guilt. He was already more angsty than Tony could sometimes handle.

"I'm not going," Steve crossed his arms over his chest, and Tony poked him with his accusing finger.

"We'll take my fastest jet."

"Tony . . ."

"Who knows, maybe you can convince her to come back!" I said brightly. Both Tony and Steve turning to glare at me. "What?!"

Thor took another bite of soap.

Tony looked back at Steve, frowning. "Okay, soldier. Pack your stuff. There is absolutely _no way _you're getting out of this - so don't even _try _and argue with me."

And, believe it or not, Tony and Steve were both on an airplane the next day . . . heading for Rome.

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for the late update, guys. I had to re-do a lot of this chapter. Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed it!**

**Last reminder, check out _Melting Silver_, which is Sam's diary of her time in Rome. It explains all that Wolverine's son stuff. And trust me, you need to read it. As Tony said, Sam went through a lot of shit. **

**I don't own the Avengers or anything from the Marvel universe. And I don't own the Winter Soldier files, either - those were all written by Ed Brubaker, and they've been taken directly from the Captain America comic with the Winter Soldier. I do not own them in the least bit - that's Brubaker's work. **

**Thanks for the reviews last chapter, guys! And thank you to everyone reading this chapter :D An extra thanks to the awesome reviewers: _Skyler, SparrowLilies, A Contradiction, Lady Firewing, Selvet, Wolf Eared Girl, roxxirox, WhatTheF-HaveUDoneLately-Cross, scott6130, brandibuckeye, HannajimaShields, Comiccrazygothgirl, ClarinetRox88, Lovergirl24, _and _erica . phoenix 16!_ **

**Just out of curiosity, does anyone do fan art? Ahaha anyway, thanks for reading, and please review - let me know what you thought! It makes my _week _to see everyone's reviews :D READERS ASSEMBLE!**

**- Lexi**


	18. Who We Are

Steve Rogers' POV

_We love our superheroes because they refuse to give up on us. We can analyze them out of existence, kill them, ban them, mock them, and still they return, patiently reminding us of who we are and what we wish we could be._

_― Grant Morrison, Supergods: What Masked Vigilantes, Miraculous Mutants, and a Sun God from Smallville Can Teach Us about Being Human_

I still can't believe Tony forced me into his private jet; forced me to fly to Rome. And what a time to do it, too — not that I knew it was important then. It seemed like a normal day, but our enemies were getting closer to their final goal. We were blissfully unaware of that at the time, though.

I been awake for the whole time on Tony's jet, although it was a long ride. I was too nervous to fall asleep.

Thinking of Sam again got my heart racing and my stomach churning. I could still feel the ghosts of all my old sentiments; all the longing and emotion. Our friendship — our love — everything hurt to think about. I knew it was her decision, and I had tried to accept that, but it was so hard. I still believed it to be my fault: because I didn't fight for her. And now, after avoiding her calls for a year, I just didn't know what to expect. I hadn't spoken to her because I was too afraid of the memories it would bring up. I'd rather cut her out of my life completely, than constantly be reminded of the pain of losing her.

Would she still be the same person? Would our silences be awkward now? What was she going to say? What was _I_ going to say? And would my feelings come flooding back in?

Had those feelings ever really left?

When we landed, we wasted no time in getting a taxi and riding through the city to Sam's university. I didn't bother to look out the windows at the ancient buildings surrounding us; I felt too sick. Damn Tony and his stupid impulses.

Tony was happily chatting away, of course, although no one was listening. He had been to Sam's place before a few times, actually, just to visit. He was rich enough to do that sort of stuff; he cared about her enough to actually go and hang out. And every time, I always had to hear about the trip in (what I thought was) full detail.

Sam's apartment was right on the university campus. Back when he was buying everything, Tony had insisted upon getting Sam a real apartment. But she had declined, preferring a student dorm because she wanted a roommate — someone who spoke Italian, so she wouldn't be completely lost in the beginning. She wanted a friend.

I found myself standing outside of her apartment door alongside Tony, staring at it in apprehension. "Straighten up, soldier," he said mockingly, and then pushed the door open without even bothering to knock.

The first thing I noticed was what a mess the place was. Books and clothing littered the floor everywhere, and the place stunk like cigarette smoke. Spilled nail polish stained the carpet, and the couch was missing a cushion. Tony kicked at some of the filth, walking further into the room.

A dark-haired girl was sitting on one of the two beds in the room, smoking a cigarette. For one horrifying second I thought it was Sam, but when she turned around I was relieved to find I didn't recognize the face. She had a Roman nose (how ironic) and big brown eyes, with a smattering of freckles and a pointed chin.

"Ei!" she exclaimed, standing up and tapping some of the ash off the end of her cigarette. "Ello!" she smiled crookedly at us.

"Steve, this is Caterina, Sam's roommate," Tony introduced us. "Caterina, this is Captain Steven Rogers."

"Ma'am," I nodded, politely, looking her up and down, from her chubby tanned legs to her jean jacket. She afforded another unsure smile at me, and then turned around to yell through a doorway. "Ei, Sam, Antonio è qui, e lui è con . . ." she trailed off, looking back at me again.

"Basta mandarlo in camera mia," a voice called through the door, and I swear my heart rate sped up, hammering in my chest like the machine gun fire from the war. _Sam_.

"You go right in, Steve," Tony pushed me towards the room beyond the doorway. "Caterina and I will go out for some lunch. Sam will know where to find us." With that, he grabbed the Italian girl's elbow and dragged her out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

I crept up to the doorway, scratching the back of my neck. I dreaded peeking into the room and seeing Sam, and yet, I couldn't wait to get it over and done with. She would be a sight for sore eyes. Even though I pretended to hate her — avoided her calls — I still missed her. And, I think, I still liked her. There. I admitted it.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the room, bracing myself for . . . well, I'm not really sure what. And then she was there, plain as day and solid as my vibranium shield, standing with her back to me as she inspected the wall.

I couldn't decided what to look at: Sam or the wall. From what I could see of her, her blonde hair was longer, more curled, and a lighter shade than it had been before, as if she had spent too much time in the sun. Her legs and arms were tanned, and she wore light-colored jean shorts that cut off halfway up her thigh. Sam wore a red tank top, too . . . and she was covered in paint.

The wall was quite an astounding thing. It was filled with paint splotches and angry streaks of color. That was basically it. Here and there would be something random — a badly drawn tree, a few words written on a patch of yellow — but for the most part, the wall was a loud array of colors, all painted one over the other.

Sam held a blue paint brush in her hand, but her arms were covered in blue and yellow all the way up to her elbows. Numerous paint cans stood at her feet; a red one was tipped over, staining the floor. I thought of one of the conversations we had during our first date: Sam had told me that when she got her own apartment, she wanted a wall where she could just paint her feelings. She wasn't an artist, but she wanted a wall that she could draw all over. It looked like she had gotten her wish.

Sam turned around then, and dropped her paint brush when she saw me. It fell to the floor with a clatter, and then silence overtook us. Her expression was beyond astonished as she gazed at me, her mouth open in an "O" and her eyes wide. I stared right back, soaking up every angle of her beautiful face that I had missed so much. She was a lot more tanned, that was for sure, but her grey eyes still looked at me with the exact same boldness.

I don't know how long we stood there, sizing each other up. It felt like mere seconds, but it also seemed like an eternity. Finally, Sam made the first move: she reached down and grabbed the purple paint can.

Turning, Sam flung it — can and all — at the wall, yelling. She sounded frustrated; upset; angry. All feelings I had wanted to protect her from . . . but now, it looked like I was the reason she felt them.

Sam let out another strangled yell, grabbing the green paint can. She chucked that at the wall too, and it left a long, dark streak of paint across the wall. The can tumbled to her feet, but she ignored it, instead picking up the orange this time.

"Tony didn't tell me you were coming," she exclaimed after throwing the orange angrily, her chest heaving. She wouldn't look at me; instead, her eyes were fixed on a certain spot on the wall. I followed her gaze, and was shocked to see a painting of my vibranium shield in the corner of the wall, untouched by the other chaotic colors. It was the only place of peace on the entire wall, and it made me pause.

Sam cried out again, bending down to pick up the yellow. She grabbed that and threw it at the wall, too, obviously aiming for the shield painting. She missed, and the yellow sprayed across a different part of the wall.

I now recognized this behavior as self-destructive, so I tried to step in and help. "Sam?" I said gently, walking closer to her. She picked up another can of paint, this one pink, as she tried to wipe the hair out of her eyes with her messy hands. "Sam, please put the paint down."

She stared at me, voluptuous chest still heaving. "Do you know how many fucking times I called you?" she said venomously. "How many times I wished it was _you_ who was visiting — not Tony, not Tasha?"

"Samantha, please, calm down," I raised my hands to show I wasn't a threat. "Can't we just — talk this through?"

She made another frustrated noise, and turned to throw the pink at the wall. But she slipped on the paint already spilled across the ground, and she fell to the floor, pink spilling everywhere.

Sam took one look at the mess she had created, and began to cry.

"What have I done?" she moaned, tears running down her face. "How did I mess up so badly?"

"Okay, Sam. Okay," I crouched down beside her awkwardly, not sure what to do. If we had still been going out, I would've wrapped my arms around her and promised it was going to be okay. But I hadn't spoken to her in so long, and I didn't know how to react anymore.

"I'm a monster," she moaned again, splashing her hands down into the puddle of paint. "I fucked everything up. Again. I always fuck everything up."

"Okay, hey, let's get you out of here," I reached out to touch her gently, afraid she would flinch at my touch. But Sam did the opposite — and soon as she felt my hand on her shoulder, she collapsed into me, paint-stains and all.

Since her hands were covered in paint, she couldn't bury her face in her hands and cry. Instead, she used my shoulder as a substitute, crying until the tears disappeared and she was just trembling.

"Sam . . . Were you talking about your paint?" I thought of her tiny monologue about messing everything up. "Or . . . something else?"

She just sniffed in response.

I convinced her to stand, and walked her out of the room towards the bathroom. I placed her under the shower and turned on the hot water, planning on just rinsing her off. But Sam stripped off her tank top and shorts, no shame, and stood under the water in just her bra and underwear.

"Sam!" I exclaimed, slapping my hands over my eyes and running for the door. I missed and ran into the toilet, tumbling over it and banging my head on the sink.

She started giggling then. It was her normal giggle; the same one she used whenever I did something completely stupid, or whenever Thor started talking about ducklings. The same giggle I had heard when we stood outside of that fitness center, eating ice cream cones.

And just like on our date, it was contagious. I started to laugh, too, and then we were both laughing; both in the bathroom, laughing hysterically like two perfectly insane people sharing an inside joke.

Slowly, I took my hands away from my eyes. She was still standing in the shower in her undergarments, mascara running down her face, but I could handle it. If Sam was comfortable with it — if this was what girls were like nowadays — I could learn to be comfortable with it, too. It was high time I started adapting to this strange century.

"I'm sorry I never picked up your calls," I said, sitting on the floor beside the toilet. "I was angry and upset. That was my way of holding a grudge — I ignored you. I was afraid of still feeling for you, I think. I would rather have lost you completely than only had half of you," I admitted, getting it all off my chest right away.

"I'm sorry I flipped out over there," Sam smiled sadly. "Can we . . . start over?"

"Yeah, sure," I smiled crookedly, taking a deep breath. "Hey, Sam. Long time no see. I've really missed you."

"Tony didn't tell me you were coming, but it's . . . it's a nice surprise. I've missed you, too," her voice took on a softer tone. "How is everyone, back in New York?"

"They're good. They really miss you, though. You were supposed to be part of the team," I said as she washed her face of all the tears and makeup.

"You know why I left, Steve," she spat some of the soap out of her mouth once she was done.

"Remind me."

Sam sighed, beginning to work at scrubbing away the paint on her arms and legs. "Stevie, you know I wanted to be an archaeologist for a long time. Since before I was Masquerade. I've always wanted to live in Rome so, so badly. It's not like there was anything left for me in Chicago — Dad's got a restraining order, Mom sold the house and bought an apartment, and Luke . . ." she looked at me, sorrow in her eyes.

"The doctors diagnosed him with depression in December," she grimaced. "He's taking drugs for it now. They say it's because of Dad's disappearance — Luke and Dad were really close, you know — and the house change, and . . ." she looked at the bottom of the tub, ashamed. "Because I left for Rome. There was a crowd of bullies involved, too."

"I'm sorry, Sam," I said truthfully. "If there's anything I can do . . ."

She shook her head. "Nah, it's alright. He's on drugs, you know? They should make him happier."

I scratched the back of my neck. "Sam, you said there was nothing left for you in Chicago, but what about New York? Why'd you leave the Avengers?"

She groaned. "Do we really have to go over this?"

"Yes."

Sam finished washing all the paint off, and turned off the shower water. She grabbed a towel from the floor and dried off before she spoke.

"Once, when I was in grade nine, my class went to see a play," she said bizarrely. "It was about a woman who wanted to join the army, but she got pregnant. Basically the whole play was her arguing with the baby's father about how much she wanted to join the army. How the baby was squashing her dreams," Sam said bitterly. "So in the end, she gave it up for adoption.

"My superpowers are like that baby. They squashed my dream of going to Rome; they wouldn't let me do what I wanted to. So, like in the play, I put my baby up for adoption: I abandoned my life as Masquerade so I could come live here."

"But what about the Avengers?" I asked in a pleading voice. "What about _me_?"

"Steve, I thought this through, I really did," she moaned, her voice sad as she stumbled back into the main room to find new clothing to wear. "I loved — _love_ — you guys so much. I wanted to be with you, Steve, so badly. But quite frankly, being Masquerade scared me. I don't want to be a hero — especially because I'm afraid that I'm not actually the hero."

I stayed in the bathroom as she changed, staring blankly ahead at the door. "Does this have anything to do with the Mandarin's attack?"

"Yes, Steve, it has _everything_ to do with the Mandarin's attack. I killed _seven people_. I'm not cut out for the hero work," she sounded choked. "I would prefer to be saved than to do the saving. Honestly, I'm — I'm not a hero!"

"Yes, but Sam, you can learn to be one!" I exclaimed. "You have no idea how hard it's been for me, without you! How hard it's been for everyone. We miss you, Sam, and we'll take you back." I stood up and burst out of the bathroom, staring her down. She was wearing a new pair of shorts now, and an old t-shirt with her high school's mascot on it.

"_I'll_ take you back."

Sam blinked, her eyes filling with tears again. She wiped at them angrily, forcing a chuckle at herself. It was more of a choke, though, as she stood there trembling, looking at me in complete disbelief.

"It's like that song you made me listen to," I teased. "That Smiley Cyrus one, or whatever. 'And I love you more than I did before, and if today I don't see your face, nothing's changed, no one can take your place. It gets harder, everyday.'"

Sam laughed a bit then, and I smiled gently. "I've tried to move on, Sam, I really have. There's a cute girl who lives in the flat below me. I asked her out in February. We went on three dates. _Three_. I really tried to make it work — I wanted to forget about you, Sam — but the girl and I never really fit together. She didn't — she _couldn't_ understand why I dressed so old-fashioned; why I didn't know how to use a microwave. We didn't have much to talk about, because I don't know what's happened in the world during the last 70 years. And I very well couldn't tell her why!

"I wanted to forget you, Sam. I'll admit it. You really hurt me by moving. But she was the one who broke it off; the one who said things just weren't working for her."

Sam wiped at her eyes again. "I got in a relationship, too. But it was . . . complicated," she took a deep breath.

"Steve, you have no idea how fucked-up my life has been over here. I've messed up — big time." I noticed her hands were shaking, and she clenched them into fists, trying to stop the shaking. It didn't work.

"I did things I'm ashamed of, Steve," she said softly. "I — I . . ."

"You can talk to me, Sam," I said gently. She wiped at her eyes angrily, as they started to fill with tears again.

"It was really bad, Stevie. Really bad," she choked out. "I don't — I —"

"I won't judge you."

Whatever it was, it must've been especially painful. She was so distressed over it that she bit her hand, trying to keep her emotions in check. Finally, she let out a sob so broken that I lurched forward to grab her, afraid she might collapse.

"I'm a horrible person," she muttered, and tears spilled onto her cheeks again. "I told you I wasn't the hero, Steve."

"What happened, Sam?"

"You never answered my phone calls, that's what happened," she whimpered. "So I went looking for a replacement. I needed someone who would help me take my mind off you. And I found a guy — his name was Daken.

"He seemed all right, I guess. He was kind of rough, and rude. A bit of an ass; a little psychotic. But, I don't know, there was something about him that made me . . . want him. Like, physically. I loved the way he made me feel, when we kissed." I felt Sam's knees buckle, and then I was the only thing holding her up.

"Daken was kind of abusive, but he was the exact opposite of you. And that was just what I needed," she said. "I needed someone so unlike you that you never even crossed my mind. And Daken was the guy. He was dangerous and dark.

"But then, in Janurary, I . . . well, I found out why I lusted after him; felt so good, just being in his presence. Daken's a mutant — he can control people's emotions. He was using me, because he . . . he liked what he saw.

"It didn't stop there, either. He's also got a regenerative healing factor — he heals quickly enough that he can't even die." She was shaking badly and crying, but I didn't say anything, because I knew if I interrupted she wouldn't be able to go on.

"And then . . . Daken had claws. Just three of them, on each hand. One extended out of the space between his second and third finger, another out of the inside of his wrist, and the last from the space between his forth and fifth."

"You mean claws like . . . Wolverine?" I said, thinking of the X-Man.

"Exactly like Wolverine," her voice dropped. ". . . Daken is Wolverine's son."

I blinked. "But isn't his son . . ."

"Bad, yes. Daken's one of the bad guys. But I tried calling you, Steve, the night I found all that out — and you didn't pick up. So I snapped," she cried. "I gave up on good. I wanted to distance myself from you so much that I tracked down Daken, and we . . . we . . ." she was unable to go on.

I held her tighter, trying to calm her sobbing. She started shaking her head, though. "Daken found out I had powers, and then not only did he take advantage of . . . of my b-body, but he took advantage of my powers, too. He convinced me to join forces with him. It didn't take much convincing, either — I was so eager to distance myself from you, Steve, that I decided the easiest way would be to act the villain.

"We terrified Rome for only a month. I was — my name was Rampage. We didn't do much. Just robbed; got involved in drug business for a bit. Daken did things that he wouldn't tell me about — something about getting revenge on his father Wolverine, I think — but I would always be there, whether I was just a driver or an accomplice." She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, trying to calm down.

"And then, I — I — Tony, Clint and Wolverine himself came and intervened; stopped me and set me back on the right track. I was — I was diagnosed with depression, too. I quit being Rampage, and Daken — I don't know what he did. He scared me so badly that I can't even use my powers anymore.

"I told you I fucked everything up," Sam wiped at her tears again, avoiding my unflinching gaze. I let her slide to the floor, so that she was now on her knees.

There was a long silence, which I finally broke. "I'm so sorry, Sam. This is — this is all my fault."

"Look, Steve, I know you're the reason I lost my mind, but really, how the _hell_ is this your fault?!" she exclaimed angrily, her face flushing red. Whenever she blushed, her entire face would turn red, except for the scar just underneath her hairline. That would turn white, and stand out in sharp relief again the rest of her red skin. She had gotten that scar during her fight with the Mandarin, I remembered — the kickstart to what seemed to be her self-destruction.

"I didn't fight for you, Sam," I said softly. "I could've stopped all this, if only I had fought for you. It's my fault for — for letting you go.

"You were the best thing that's happened to me in seventy years," I cracked a smile. "But I let you go. And I'm sorry, Sam. We've wasted so much time. And if I could do it over, I would fight for you this time. I would fight a hundred times over. We both made mistakes."

She shook her head, biting her lip. "You didn't have to fight for me, Stevie. It was my choice. And I've really fucked things up, but — but I still love this city," she wiped away the last of the tears. "It's like my 'Masquetade' tattoo. It represents how everyone goes around in life, wearing a mask and hiding their true feelings. Life's a masquerade. I was just . . . trying on different masks."

"I miss you, Sam," I said softly.

"I miss you, too," she choked out.

"I'm sorry for letting you go, and for never returning your calls. After hearing about Daken, I . . . I feel like a complete idiot," I ran a hand through my hair. "It was me that pushed you to that breaking point, and I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she afforded a watery smile. "I knew what I was getting in to."

"'Say you love me more than you did before,'" I sang softly. "'And I'm sorry it's this way. But I'm coming home, I'll be coming home, and if you ask me I will stay; I will stay.'"

I fell to my knees on the floor beside Sam, and then I found myself kissing her, kissing her on the cheeks, on the top of her head, on her puckered forehead scar, on her lips. And Sam just clung right on to me, as she clutched my shirt fabric in tight fists, pulling me to her desperately, like a drowning victim.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," she kept repeating over and over, and I didn't even notice until a few minutes later.

"Shh, shh, baby," I patted her hair down, hugging her. "It's okay. It's okay."

"No, Steve, it's not," she held me tighter. "I abandoned you guys. And, although we had to talk about it and now . . . now this . . ." she motioned our embrace, ". . . I can't go back. I'm so sorry."

"Hey. Hey, it's okay," I said, even though I knew it wouldn't be. "At least we have closure, right?"

"I don't know," she sighed heavily. "I've just — I've lost so much. I've lost my dad, my friends, and possibly my brother, all because I have these fucked-up powers. Maybe it would be easier just to cut off all ties to that — that world," I felt her take a deep breath. "I want a normal life, Steve. I want to grow old and have a shitty-ass job, and get married, and have kids that think I'm the most unfair mom in the world, while still being the greatest. And then I want to be elderly, and be boring. So far, it's been pretty damn hard. All I've done in life is attract abnormal people, from you and the other Avengers, to Daken. I'm like . . . a magnet for the messed-up. But I don't want to run around as Masquerade — or Rampage, for that matter. That's where we differ, Steve — you volunteered to become Cap, because you already had the nobel and brave heart of a hero. I don't have that. I just have the powers. And while it may be your _job_ to be Captain America — while that may be the career path you chose — mine was forced upon me. That's why you have trouble understanding my situation."

I hugged her tighter. Words weren't needed, and besides, what would I say? I couldn't control how Sam felt. And although I thought she was noble and strong and all that, it was a different thing entirely to make her see that for herself.

"What am I going to do with you?" I laughed slightly, pulling back a bit so I could see her face. "Sam, I know you're going to stay here, but — maybe you can visit America? And I'll accept your phone calls," I said sincerely.

"That'd be nice," she blushed; I missed that familiar color in her cheeks. "I miss the US," she admitted, "but I love it in Rome. I love the ruins that are just mere feet from my door," she played with a button on my shirt absentmindedly, "and the hot climate. This city is just so free! Everyone does what they want and dresses how they want. No one cares what others think of them. And that's a really nice change from the USA," she shrugged.

"I bet their apple pies aren't as good," I teased.

"I bet their Captains aren't as good," she said slyly.

"How's school going?" I asked, surprising myself at how simply we had gotten back into our natural flow of conversation.

"Good. It's difficult, but good. The classes are a lot of fun. I've already even been on a dig," she said excitedly, her grey eyes glinting. "And as a job, I'm a tour guide. For English-speaking tourists, of course. It helps me to memorize my history, and it pays well."

"Maybe I should get a tour from you while I'm here," I smiled, and she laughed. It was nice to hear that sound again. I had missed it.

"Let's go find Tony and Caterina," she said, pulling away from me.

"Tony said they were going out for lunch, and that you'd know where to find them."

"Yeah, there's a little restaurant that Tony adores. He always goes there," she rolled her eyes. "Honestly, that guy needs to be more original every once in a while."

We stepped through her messy apartment, and outside into the heat of the Roman sun. I breathed in a lungful of fresh air, thankful to be out of the smokey atmosphere of the apartment.

"Yeah, sorry about all the cigarette smoke," Sam sighed. "It's Caterina who smokes, not me. I mean, I — I tried it, while Daken was around, but . . ." she took a deep breath; ran a ran through her hair. "Sorry. Sorry I keep talking about him. He . . . he damaged me."

I reached out and gently took her hand, entwining our fingers, and Sam looked up at me in surprise.

"What? I didn't get to hold your hand during our first date, because of your crutches," I raised my eyebrows. She giggled again, and that sound alone made my heart race.

I'll admit it: I was glad my feeling for Sam had come back so quickly . . . I was glad they still existed.

Nothing could've made me happier in that moment, as we walked down the streets in Rome, finally holding hands.

Absolutely nothing.

* * *

**Author's Note: And here was their long-awaited, long-anticipated reunion! I hope it was satisfactory :3 and that everything made sense LOL**

**Sorry this took me forever to update! Stuff was going on in my personal life. Anyway, I'm going to get back on track now - set up a schedule again. Today I finished writing this entire story :D**

**If you haven't checked out Melting Silver yet, do it now. Seriously. It's Sam's diary of Rome, and it explains that entire Daken thing in full detail, going through all the time that's passed. So please check it out - you can find it in my profile!**

**Special thanks to those wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter, and who are sticking around through all this. I miss you guys :) _Selvet, WhatTheF-HaveUDoneLately-Cross, Laurafxox, brandibuckeye, roxxirox, Comiccrazygothgirl, clarinetgirl628, Of-Theives-And-Liars, Skyler, Lovergirl24, _and _erica . phoenix 16! _Thank you all so much for your kind, wonderful words :D**

**Please leave a review this chapter - it was quite the milestone in the story! Tell me what you thought or what you had for breakfast, either's good :D but please review, and I hope you enjoyed! READERS ASSEMBLE!**


	19. Without Result

Tony Stark's POV

_"__There is nothing more exhilarating than to be shot at without result."  
- Winston Churchill_

"Due acque, per favore," Caterina said to the waiter, as we sat down.

"No, no," I shook my head. "Vino. Vino!" Whispering, I asked Caterina, "That means wine, right?"

She rolled her eyes, and then turned back to the waiter. "Una bottiglia di un vino migliore," she spoke in quick Italian, as I settled back in my seat and looked over my menu (which was entirely in a language I couldn't read).

We sat on the patio of a small Italian pasta restaurant, just three blocks away from Caterina and Sam's apartment. It was my favorite restaurant — I came here every time I visited Rome.

Sam would know to look for me here.

I remembered the fearful look on his face when I left Steve alone back at that apartment, but you know what? He needed to get over himself. He needed to suck it up, and take it like a man. Deal with it, rather than avoiding it.

And so I left him alone there, with Sam. Hopefully they'd talk things out, rather than going the other direction and biting one another's heads off. Sam had been through a lot this past year, and most of it had to do with Steve indirectly. And you know what?_ I_actually hoped they could work things out. Let's face it, they both needed each other.

But I was stuck with Caterina until them came to find us. _Hopefully_ they'd come to find us. I mean, I may have wanted them to kiss and make up — but not literally. Seriously, no makeup sex, guys. That's going a little far.

Caterina kind of annoyed me. We didn't have anything in common, and she could hardly speak English in the first place. But we tolerated each other well enough. She was Sam's roommate and basically the closest thing Sam had to a friend here, so I had to make do.

It was weird, not having Sam as part of the Avengers team anymore. She was one of the founders, and actually a pretty crucial part of our superhero family. Now that she had quit, things felt unfulfilled. There was a hole now, in our rankings. Things just didn't feel right without Masquerade wandering around, usually causing more trouble than she tried to stop.

I could deal. Most of us could deal with it, actually. Even Clint one day got over it (after spending nearly every freaking morning watching chick flicks that made him cry). But Steve . . . well, even though he didn't talk to her, he never let her go.

I scratched at my arc reactor, wincing a bit. On the technology side of things, my life was going great. I had finally figured out how to power Stark Tower using only green energy — and it was better than the prototype from when Loki was around, since this one was the real deal. It would run itself for as long as I needed it to.

Our drinks arrived as it started to get dark out; the sun had set. My mind turned to some of my other projects: things I was helping S.H.I.E.L.D with. There was also, of course, the fact that most of the Avengers had taken over Stark Tower and were now living there year-round. As if they weren't annoying enough when they were only visiting. I was seriously considering moving away to Stark Mansion . . . and making the Tower our headquarters, re-naming it Avengers Tower. Everyone seemed fully supportive of it, so I was just trying to talk things over with Pepper and some lawyers. Pepper believed that we—

Steve and Sam walked up to the restaurant then, and I blinked in surprise when I saw them holding hands. Seemed as if they really did make up. Thank god — I don't think I would have been able to last another day with Steve PMSing and acting angsty all the time.

They headed over to our table then, and pulled up chairs to sit down. I winked at Sam, and she rolled her eyes. But then a heavy, awkward silence settled over us, and everyone sat staring glumly off into space. I didn't even have a sarcastic comment to break the tension.

It was so awkward that we decided not to stay for dinner — just drinks. It was completely dark outside by the time we left though, and tourists were either beginning to clear off the streets or head towards the big monuments for some night-time scenery. Our little corner of Rome became rather deserted, as I payed the bill and we began walking back towards the girls' apartment. Steve and I had rented two rooms (what, you think I'd share a room with that bag of dust?) a ways away (the only high class hotels were on the other side of the city, of course. How convenient. Showed you what kind of neighbourhood we were in). We'd just drop the girls off, and then take a taxi back to the hotel.

At least, that was the plan. It didn't quite turn out like that.

The four of us were walking down the street when Steve started randomly giggling. Sam stopped in her tracks, looking alarmed.

"What's so funny? Are you okay?"

In response, he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet, kissing her. "Waa— hey!" was Sam's reaction, before the kiss cut her off. I turned to Caterina and made a gagging motion; the Italian girl giggled.

"Are you drunk?!" Sam asked breathlessly, once Steve put her down.

"I can't get drunk," he said, grinning. "I'm just . . . happy."

Sam's face turned red, and she looked down at her feet. "You planning on kissing me again?"

A mischievous look crossed over Steve's face (Steve! Mischievous! It was almost unthinkable). But his response of, "I was considering it," made me turn back to Caterina and mime throwing up once more.

By the time I looked back at the two, they were kissing again. Sam pulled away quickly. "This can't mean anything, Steve," she said gently, watching his eyes.

"Everything means something."

"You're infuriating," she smiled, her one dimple showing. "But I mean it, you know. We very well can't have a relationship — you're going back to the USA, and I'm staying here."

"That doesn't mean I can't enjoy this while I'm here," Steve took her hands in his, stepping back.

"But it'll hurt so much more when you leave . . ."

"This is my way of fighting for you, Sam," he said in a low voice. Caterina walked over to the other side of the street to give them privacy, and I followed, whistling to illustrate just how awkward the whole situation was for us. The night was eerily quiet as Steve and Sam had their lovers' quarrel, or whatever it was. I suddenly realized that the street lamps on this part of the street were all out — but by the time that little fact nestled itself in my brain, it was already too late.

Caterina crumpled to the ground as her kneecap exploded and I stepped back in a panic, watching as red blood blossomed from her knee and she shrieked something unholy. "Duck!" I shouted to no one in particular, dropping to the ground beside her; something went whizzing over her head. It shot into the wall, exploding a bit of the stone.

Caterina kept on screaming in my ear, staring at her knee – or what was left of it – in absolute terror. It had been shot through with a sniper bullet, that much was obvious, and all that was left now was a chunk of red flesh and a bit of bone. "Sam and Steve — get down!" I shouted over at them. "We're under attack!"

Just barely, I heard the sound of another shot being fired. Caterina screamed and scream and screamed, curling up on the pavement in agony as I tried to see where, exactly, our attacker was hiding. It was plain enough for me to see that, well, the Winter Soldier – the highly-trained assassin from the Cold War_that never failed_ had finally caught up with us.

He had been trying to pick off the Avengers one at a time for the past year. We were his biggest threat, after all, and taking us down individually would be easier than all at once. I wouldn't say that so far, he'd _failed – _just that he hadn't succeeded. How could he have failed if his mission wasn't yet over? It certainly helped our case that half the Avengers had secret identities, and the other half I had put in lockdown at Stark Tower. Plus, we were highly-trained super-humans. That couldn't hurt.

He'd found us now, though. And he would kill those around us to reach his final goal – poor Caterina was caught in the crossfire. I wouldn't put it past the Winter Soldier to consider her an expendable.

We were helpless. He had picked a prime time to attack. There were no Avengers to call for backup; my suit had been delivered to the hotel, just in case. That "just in case" was happening now, and I was nowhere near it. Steve's shield, too, was back at Sam's place, where we had brought our bags. And it wasn't like we carried guns on us.

"Steve, we need to make it back to the apartment," I yelled over at him, where he was hiding in an alcove with a terrified Sam. Wait — Sam!

"Never mind, I've got a better plan," I forced a smile. "Sam, just - just use your powers. Light the bastard up. Knock him over with wind. Whatever!"

A terrified look crossed her face. "Tony, I can't," she shouted at me, as the Soldier fired off another shot, directly at me this time. He missed, and I ran into a doorway to hide.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"

"I promised myself I'd never use my powers again, Tony. Ever," she stressed.

Steve turned on her then, his eyes flashing. "This is not the right time to be keeping that promise, Sam," he said clearly. A shot was fired off at him, but the Soldier must've been at an angle that didn't give him a clear shot at Steve, because he missed by a ways. "We need you - we have no other resources."

She shook her head stubbornly. "I'm not a superhero, Steve. Not anymore. Now I'm normal, with no powers, and I won't—"

"Your roommate was just crippled!" Steve roared, getting worked up. Speaking of said roommate, I dodged out quickly to grab Caterina and drag her into the doorway, further out of harm's way.

"Steve, it's - I swear, it's not just that I won't, it's that I can't," Sam pleaded back at him. "When I left Daken, I - he - he put up a mental block in my brain, and I couldn't use my powers, even if I wanted to."

"Well try harder," Steve said in his warning tone. I quickly searched through Caterina's pockets and thank god, found a cell phone.

"Call the police," I shoved it in her hands, peeking my head back outside.

Down at the end of the street, someone leaped off the fire escape of a building. They darted towards us quickly, and the sound of gunfire erupted right up the ally. Chucks of stone were blown off building walls, and I narrowly avoiding having my head blasted off.

The Winter Soldier was on the move, and coming closer.

"Come on, Sammy, he's right there!" I cried, although I doubt she heard me through Caterina's sobs and screams. "Hit him with an earthquake, or something!"

To my absolute horror, the Solider came for me first. It was definitely him, bionic arm and all, with a stony expression on his face. I tried ducking further back into the doorway, but he grabbed my collar and dragged me out onto the street.

"Hey, hey, hands off the suit, it's Luis Vuitton. Custom-made," I said steadily, although I was flipping shit on the inside. _This couldn't be how I died, could it?_ I thought as I heard the click of his gun, the safety catch releasing as he pointed it straight at my head. I always thought that when I died, I would at least have a fighting chance. That maybe it wouldn't be in the middle of Rome, all alone.

Well, almost. I honestly did think I was a goner - there was simply no way for me to escape - when Steve appeared, knocking the Soldier from behind. The two men turned on each other, both preparing for a fight as I scrambled away on my hands and knees, towards Sam. She was cowering in a corner herself, biting on her t-shirt collar to keep from screaming.

"Hey, what the hell? What happened to using your powers to save my ass? I almost fucking died out there!" I cried, getting to my feet and lifting her by her elbows. Sam didn't respond; just watched the fight between Steve and the Winter Soldier with watery eyes.

"Let's go, this is our one chance to escape," I tugged on her elbow. I'll admit it, I was super fucking pissed at her. The Soldier had his gun pressed to my head, safety catch already off, and she hadn't moved a muscle - or a gust of wind - to help me. I would have my brains all over the sidewalk by now, if not for Steve.

I understood she didn't want to be the hero, but did she really have to take it that far? To the point where I was mere seconds from absolute death?!

I literally had to drag her away from the fight between Steve and the Soldier, as she screamed through her t-shirt. They had come to blows - Steve was landing punches to the other guy's face and torso, and his strength completely outmatched the Soldier's. Once again, I had to stop and admire the similarities between their fighting techniques. But the terror kept me going down the street, as I tried to rush away.

The Soldier kicked Steve in the face, knocking him to the ground, but Steve knocked out both of the Soldier's knees. The masked villain fell to the ground, but then pinned Steve down: he sat on his chest, and landed blow after blow on Steve's perfect face. His fists pummeled my ally's head into the ground, and I was so entranced and focused on getting away that I didn't notice Sam slip out of my grasp.

She cried out angrily, rushing the soldier and attaching herself to his back. She began to punch his head then and scratch at his eyes; the Soldier pulled her off easily, throwing her to the ground without ever getting off Steve.

"Don't you dare touch her!" roared Steve - not that he was in any shape to be giving his opponent orders. The Winter Soldier grinned, reaching over to grab Sam by the hair and pull her up to eye-level.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow," she gasped, struggling against him as he examined her face.

"Well, you're quite the fighter. I have to admire that. And who might you be, beautiful?" the Soldier asked in a deep voice. "Captain America's date-of-the-week?"

She spat straight onto his face, hitting him on the cheek, just under his mask.

The Winter Soldier screwed up his face in disgust, and then smashed her head into the cement. She screamed in pain, and Steve bellowed. I could still hear Caterina shrieking in the doorway, except it finally seemed as if she was talking to someone on the other end of her cell phone.

I wanted desperately to do something to help, but I knew I couldn't. I wasn't a super soldier, and I didn't even have hand-to-hand combat training like Sam. My powers weren't even inhuman, like Sam's. No, my power was money. And it sure as hell wasn't helping me now. My job was to build the future: I used technology to kick ass. Never once had I thought I'd need more street-fighting skills than just a little bar-fighting experience.

I made it to the end of the street, but couldn't take my eyes off my companions as I desperately tried to think up a plan. The Winter Soldier had gone back to pummeling Steve's head again, as Sam struggled to get up.

"Ooh, you don't give up. I like that," the Winter Soldier quipped. She charged him, finally managing to knock him off Steve; they rolled on the ground together, kicking and biting and scratching.

"Don't hurt her!" Steve cried, jumping right in there. He grabbed the Soldier by the shirt collar and elbowed him in the nose; his head twisted to the side, and hair covered his face as he spat a tooth out. "You leave—" smack, "her—" smack, "alone!" smack.

Sam pulled herself to her feet, glaring down angrily. I watched her screw up her face in concentration, eyes focused in on the Soldier as she raised her hand at him. She was - finally - trying to use her powers.

But _nothing was happening._

The Winter Soldier fought back, punching Steve in the gut and knocking the guy back off him. Steve tumbled into Sam, breaking her concentration as they fell to the ground. She helped him get up right away, as they backed away slowly from the threat.

The Soldier now had a gun out, and it was pointed directly at Steve. He cocked his head and smiled; they were exactly where he wanted them. I panicked, hearing sirens in the distance. We were so close to salvation, and yet so far.

A shot fired off and Sam yelped, digging her fingers into Steve's arm. But it was just a gunshot to get them riled up, as were the next two, consecutively fired right beside their heads.

Finally, the Soldier aimed the gun directly at Sam. "You can go first," he smiled crookedly. "It'll be a shame. You know, you wouldn't have had to die if you had just stayed out of this."

The shot fired; there was a flash of light, and a female shriek. A body thumped to the ground.

I could barely look. Someone must've just been killed . . .

Almost. The bullet _almost_ hit Sam. But it missed her, thank god. Instead, she stood there shaking and crying; she puked onto the ground, her body unable to handle it.

I then realized what she was so upset about: Steve had taken the bullet for her.

Good ol' Cap was fine, of course. From what I could see, the bullet hadn't hit anything vital: it had just barely knicked him in the side of the abdomen. But he was on the ground now, grinding his teeth against the pain.

"Is this what you wanted, Sam?" he said between gasps. "For someone else to be the hero? For someone to save _you_?" Steve was livid — at Sam. Even though they had talked it out - even though just mere minutes ago, he had been happy - he was still angry with her for leaving.

For neglecting to be the hero.

The Soldier raised his gun again, this time aiming for Steve's head. Sam panicked, and launched herself at him. The police sirens got closer as she smacked him across the face and kicked him between the legs.

"It must be nice having such a brave, protective boyfriend, no?" the Winter Soldier had the nerve to grin in her face. Sam growled viciously, clawing at him with her nails.

In the process, his mask was dislodged. He tried to replace it, but she smacked him again; it fell off to reveal a handsome, youthful face behind it. At the time, his face didn't mean anything to me.

But it sure as hell meant something for Steve.

"Bucky?" he gasped, pushing himself up from the ground and staggering forward. "No. No, it can't be you." But as the police cars came ripping around the corner, their lights cast away the shadows and made the Soldier's face clear as day. Steve's eyes widened.

"It _is_ you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," the Soldier griped, grabbing Sam and spinning her around so that her back was to him and she was facing Steve. He pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to stifle her screams. The other hand held a gun, pressed to her temple.

"Bucky! Bucky, it's Steve, I — what the hell are you doing?!"

"Saving my ass," he growled, as Sam bucked against him. She was quite possibly the most difficult hostage anyone could ever have taken, as she squirmed and kicked and lashed out violently with her limbs, screaming through his hand all the while.

"Bucky, we're best friends! What — what happened to you?! I thought you — you died —"

Police started getting out of their cars, pointing guns at Bucky. He kept his own cocked at Sam's head, backing away from Steve and towards a fire escape.

"I'll be seeing you soon, Captain America," he growled, then pushed Sam away violently.

"Bucky, I — wait!" Steve cried out as Sam went spiralling into him, and Bucky leapt up onto the fire escape to disappear into the night.

The police swarmed the scene then, grabbing Caterina and Steve for immediate medial attention as I rushed to Sam's side.

"That was - that was Bucky," Steve was gasping.

"I think he's delirious," I muttered, as they loaded him into an ambulance.

"Bucky!" Steve bellowed, as Sam collapsed into my arms, sobbing.

"Look, Cap, it wasn't Bucky. He died 70 years ago on that train, remember?" I tried to reassure him.

"No. That was definitely Bucky. The Winter Soldier was Bucky," he nodded earnestly, before they shut the ambulance doors behind him.

Sometimes, I honestly believed that I was the only sane one around. That couldn't have been Bucky, all the way back from World War II . . .

Right?

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey, guys :) if you picked up on the foreshadowing at the beginning of the last chapter, well, this was it. Remember to check out Melting Silver if you haven't already - it explains why Sam can't use her powers!**

**The Avengers came out on DVD today :D Marvel movie marathon anyone?**

**There was some amazing feedback on the last post! Thank you all so, so much for the wonderful reviews :D and an extra-special thanks to Shadow Realm Triforce for reviewing every single chapter in both this story, and Silver Ashes! You honestly made my week, and I can't thank you enough for your kindness :)**

**WE'RE ALMOST AT 300 REVIEWS! Can you believe it? I sure can't; that's the most feedback I've ever gotten on one story! I cannot thank you all enough for the incredible reviews you've left and the wonderful things you've said; I appreciate it all so much, and your support keeps me inspired :) Can we make it to 300 by the next chapter?**

**Special thanks to those awesome (as always!) reviewers: _Shadow Realm Triforce, Selvet, CeffylGwyn, 1dlover, brandibuckeye, erica . phoenix 16, LunaTheLoneWolf, MysticRyter, clarinetgirl628, Laurafxox, ClainetRox88, GoForTehGig, Human-Wolf Hybrid No.008_ and_ roxxirox! _Thanks for all the inspiration :)**

**The next chapter's from the point of view of someone we haven't heard from before, so stay tuned! Please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter - let's make it to 300 :) READERS ASSEMBLE!**


	20. Rooting for the Machines

Bruce Banner's POV

_I visualize a time when we will be to robots what dogs are to humans, and I'm rooting for the machines._

_- Claude Shannon, The Mathematical Theory of Communication_

So, um, hi.

Looks like it's my turn with the journal now.

I guess . . . I haven't really been in this story much, have I? Huh. I suppose it's because I'm not one of the "important guys". I spend my time in the lab, doing the behind-the-scenes work. I'm not interesting; not like Captain America or Iron Man. I don't go out on the front lines. If I did, well . . . you know. The Other Guy would have to make an appearance. And we try to keep his appearances to a minimum.

None of the other Avengers really talk about me, do they? No, I don't think so. As I said, it's because I'm always in the lab. Uh, it's the same with Hank. He hasn't been in this story much, either.

I suppose that changes, somewhere down the road. I get a little braver: I start to fear the Other Guy less. But in this time . . . I mean, back when this took place . . . I was like a secluded hermit. I didn't talk to people if I could help it.

Mainly, I do it because I'm uncomfortable with the way the others make me feel. Take Sam or Janet Van Dyne, for instance. They act like I'm some sort of monster, always close to snapping. They tiptoe around and treat me like I'm not human. So, I avoid them altogether. I don't want to cause people discomfort, but also . . . I'm always so unwelcome around them, even if they don't notice.

That's the thing I like about Tony, I guess. He's, uh, the only one who's really tried to be my friend. Tony's just . . . he's not afraid of me. He doesn't fear hanging around me. He's not like the others: "Oh no, he's a monster." Tony's actually a friend.

I can't even begin to, um, describe what it means to me. Although, I'm sure this makes sense: it means so much that even when I'm The Other Guy, I _still_ want to save Tony's ass from being whipped. Because by not treating the Hulk - sorry, the Other Guy - like a monster, he's stopped me from actually _being_ one.

To tell you the truth, I'm not, uh, really sure where I'm going with this. I guess that was, um, an intro? No, an explanation. But I've got the journal now. So it's my turn to explain what goes on in, uh, my section of the Tower.

Although, I guess there are bigger things to be writing about now.

So, Tony and Steve were off in Rome. And then, suddenly, they were back. I had been following the news, of course; I seemed to be the only one who had realized what had happened.

"Winter Soldier?" I asked to confirm when they arrived at the Tower. Tony nodded, and that was all I needed to hear.

But they told the rest of the story anyway. Turns out that, uh, the Soldier attacked them. Steve was shot and the Italian doctors operated on him right away. But Tony didn't even give him time to breathe before he dragged him, um, back to New York City.

Tony's fine. Samantha, who was also there, was fine. Sam's friend was shot. I wasn't, uh, concentrating on them, though. We all had to deal with Steve first.

The poor guy seemed half-insane. Tony thought he was fully-insane, actually. Steve kept talking, alternating between speaking of "Bucky", and raging about Sam. No one could really, um, understand what he was saying, so we decided to give him a few days.

But that night, I walked in on Steve and Tony in the living room, chatting over orange juice. I backed away, sensing the conversation was private, but stayed by the, uh, door. I'll admit it, I was curious. I wanted to join in - I was always the one getting left out, no matter what it was. Why couldn't I be a part of brotherly discussions? Just another side effect of having the Other Guy always ready to leap out, I guess.

"Look at me, Steve," Tony was saying in his no-nonsense voice. "Look - look at me. Steve, look." There was a pause. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

Steve forced a chuckle. "We did this exact thing last time I saw Sam."

"Yeah, but it's different now. I saw you two: you were so happy I thought you were going to shit a rainbow. And now, you're . . . I don't know. You're livid. And it's not an emotion that suits you well."

"I just . . . can't believe her, sometimes," said Steve, and a sigh echoed through the room. "She wouldn't use her powers to help us, because she didn't want to be a hero. And - and because she wanted someone else to be doing the saving." I heard him slam his fist down on the table. "Well, I hope she's happy now. I _did_ save her. And I got a bullet in the lower torso because of it. She doesn't seem to get it - to understand what is truly means to be a hero. Sam is one, I know that. Or at least, I _used_ to. Until you almost died, and she didn't do anything about it."

I, um, I left then. I didn't need to hear any more. Besides, there was an Avengers meeting in the lab in five minutes. I may as well have gotten there early. It was _the_ meeting, too. The one we'd been waiting for.

Hank had revealed his skeleton in the closet to me and Tony, about a year ago - before Sam left. And things had finally reached the point where he was ready to announce it to the team.

"I have some news," he said, once the meeting started a bit later. Hank held on to Janet's hand for support, as Nat glared him down. She certainly had a rough edge to her.

"I haven't told you the entire truth about Ultron," he started. "But now that the Soldier's assassination attempts have apparently started getting more lethal, I believe it is time to fess up." Hank bowed his head for a moment before continuing.

"I . . . created Ultron. He's my robot. And I gave him my brain waves, too, so that he'd think just like me. But then Ultron . . . he rebelled. Turned against me; became self-aware. He left, and I thought him lost. But then he made his reappearance last year, and since then he's been constantly upgrading himself to become invincible.

"What's more, Ultron suffers from an Oedipus Complex: he has an irrational hate for me, his 'father', but he has a . . . shall we say, _interest_ in Janet," Hank squeezed his wife's hand. "While I do believe his goals are world domination or possibily a new age of robots, I also think this may be a way for him to hurt me - by taking my country. And he'll come after Janet, too.

"A year ago, Natasha asked me why I was helping you all. To tell the truth, it's because I feel as if I need to make up for Ultron. I've created a robot that has been killing people and wreaking havoc. He's also obviously planning something big. I feel guilty - this is my way of making up for what I've done. I'm trying to clear my name of creating the evil by putting a stop to it."

Everyone in the room was silent for a long time as we thought this over. It didn't mean we had any new leads, of course - but at least things made sense now. If we understood the threat better, then maybe we could guess at his motives.

"Do you think this robot is capable of killing?" Natasha broke the silence, springing into action. "We need to find out his exact motive now, more than ever."

"Well, considering he's already killed over fifty people, yes," I cut in. "Look - he doesn't leave a very clean trail. We've been tracking him down for the past year." I walked over to one of my computer screens and brought up a long green and black list of locations. "So far, the only moves he's been making are attacks on factories. That's why we believe he's upgrading himself - parts are being stolen that Hank, uh, classifies as a little piece of Ultron. Everything he's taken is either a new part, or it _contributes_ to building a new part."

"Is he still attacking factories and plantations?" Natasha asked, peering down at the list.

"It's, um, slowed down in the past month."

"Then maybe that's why the Soldier attacked you guys so violently," she looked up at Tony and Steve. "Ultron's moving closer to the final stages of whatever he's planning. He needs us dead now, because he's almost there."

Tony butted Natasha out if the way, and stared hard at the computer screen. "Bruce, pull up a map of the locations of all these places," he ordered; I did so, and Tony moved to look at it. "Now, a list of parts." I hit a button and it popped up beside the map.

"There's not much left that he hasn't already stolen," Hank spoke for the first time since his story. I think he was actually a bit, uh, relieved that we weren't judging him for making a mistake with Ultron. "I've created my own list," he swung a computer screen over, with the information on it, "of what Ultron will possibly be going after. I've alerted all these places about the possibility of his arrival, but so far, every time he's attacked he has succeeded."

"So he'd upgrading himself. But _why? _What's the point? We need to figure out his real motives," he said in his deep voice, shaking his head.

"Well, we already know from Tasha that they're planning on taking over the government. Or at least, that's our best guess," I said, using my hands for emphasis. "We believe that they'll try to instill fear in the public, take out the government leaders, and then step into their places and make the chaos stop - posing as the good guys."

"But why?" Steve pressed.

"Domination of the USA. Eventual domination of the world. Supposed freedom for the public. An energy source that the government has. Nuclear weapons. Or maybe they're just really selfish and want people to look up to them," Tony shrugged. "These are men who want power. They want to be known, they want to be looked up to, and they want to be in charge."

"I don't quite think we're looking at this from a bird's-eye point-of-view, though," Clint cut in.

"Okay, look, 'Hawkeye', just because you're half bird-" Tony snapped.

"No, he's got a point," Steve interrupted.

"Steve, don't talk out loud, you're lowing the IQ of the entire street," said Tony.

The super soldier ignored him. "Bruce, you've been concentrating on Ultron alone, right?"

"And the Winter Soldier, and the Mandarin," I shrugged, readjusting my glasses.

"But we haven't been looking at the big picture. Hank, is that list for all of the upgrades Ultron might potentially need, or is it a list of what it requires to build Ultron in the first place?"

"The latter," Hank nodded earnestly.

"I see where you're going with this," Clint smiled. "See, at least Steve gets me!"

"Doctor Banner, have you looked into how _many_ of each part Ultron's stolen?"

I blanched, glancing at Hank. "Well, actually, no . . . we've overlooked that . . ."

Tony hopped over to a computer, clacking away at the keyboard. "The information's all here, we've just been too blind to see it. Can't see the forest for the trees, right?" he said.

"Steve's right," Clint added in. "We've been concentrating on Ultron so much that the other details have slipped through our fingers."

A beeping noise sounded from Tony's computer, and he pulled it forward for everyone to see. "This is . . . well, unexpectedly," he muttered, ashamed. "I can't believe we overlooked this."

"Ultron is building an army of artificial intelligence," Thor announced, his eyes transfixed on the screen. "He has been stealing parts not for himself, but for others."

"He's building a robot army," Natasha exclaimed grimly. "Look - he hasn't just stolen _one_ of this, and _one_ of that. He's taken . . ."

"Dozens, if not hundreds," I gasped, staring at the huge numbers of loss on the screen. "All our theories are incorrect."

"That may not be true," Hank looked up. "I gave Ultron my brainwaves, right? And let's face it - I'm the kind of person who would not only build an army, but upgrade myself as well _at the same time_."

"Don't you think that maybe he's not building an army, exactly - he's building more 'Ultron's?" Steve asked.

"No . . . that would mean that he doesn't have supreme power," answered Natasha. "It gives him a motive to upgrade himself, too - he wants to be leader of the army, not just another soldier."

"And what do you believe the motive of the _army_ is?" Thor asked. "Why build himself minions?"

"To do his dirty work?" I asked, musing. "So he doesn't have to put himself in danger?"

"He's a robot, and although he's self-aware, I don't believe he's self-preserving," Hank quipped.

"Let's think about Nat's original theory," said Tony. "She thought that the Soldier would take out political leaders - and us, for the record - while the Mandarin's job would be to create havoc in the public. Ultron was basically the brains of everything. Now, if we edit this theory to fit with our realization of an army . . ."

I cut in. "The Mandarin must not have been the only means to disturb the country. The army - Ultron will send them out to complete the Mandarin's job. They'll cause panic, and Ultron will step in to save the day and become the new country's leader."

"He could also end up using the robots as police officers, or law enforcers, once he's in charge,' Natasha said earnestly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Even so, that's still bad."

"I believe Doctor Banner's option would be more likely," said Hank. "Besides . . . that's what I would do, if I were Ultron."

"This is great and all, but do you really think the public is going to trust Ultron - a robot - after a _robotic_ army came along and just destroyed the country?" Clint asked.

"And that, my friends, is another reason why the Winter Soldier is around," Tony smirked. "Ultron will continue to hide behind the scenes - and the Soldier will take place as leader. Think about it: everyone knows who the Mandarin is; they won't let him into office. And Clint had a good point, about robots and how the public will turn against them. So the Soldier - who is a covert assassin, and keeps his face hidden - he'll be the one to step in and abolish the chaos. He'll be the puppet."

Suddenly, Steve interrupted. "TheWinterSoldierismyoldfrien dBuckyfromWorldWarTwo," he said all in one breath, as if afraid someone would jump in and cut him off.

"Excuse me?" Hank asked.

"The Winter Soldier is my old best friend Bucky, from back before I was frozen," he said slowly this time. "This all adds up in a way now, doesn't it? Bucky was my best friend, and a soldier with me during the war. Then he fell off that train and got amnesia, but the Russians rescued him. And Natasha can tell you the rest," he looked at the redhead. "I know the first half of his story, she knows the second. Maybe this can bring us closer to understanding him. And maybe we can crack him - because I know my Bucky would be horrified if he knew what he was doing. What he had done." Everyone, myself included, looked skeptical.

"Steve, I know you're going through a tough time again," Tony nodded, "especially because you just lost Sammy for a second time." Steve's expression darkened. "But that doesn't mean Bucky's _back_. You can't just re-invent the people you miss. The thing you do best, Steve, is suffer, and you're doing just that right now. The thing that hurts you the most is when you lose those you love."

"Since when have you been all therapeutic?" Clint scrunched up his nose.

"Hey, I'm just offering him some advice. I'm the smartest one here, let's face it, I know best. If Steve ever needs anything, he'll come to me. I can't even begin to imagine what you guys do in your tiny, boring little brains all day."

"I wouldn't believe that Bucky was back either, Tony," Steve frowned, "but I saw it with my own eyes. You wondered why his fighting skills were so similar to mine? Now you know. His story and the Winter Soldier's stories connect up."

". . . Steve's right," Natasha suddenly announced. "I've done my research, but I kept it secret because I didn't want to upset you, Steve. I've known for almost a year that yes, Bucky is the Winter Soldier. Back when I knew him - loved him . . . I called him James." She recounted to us everything she knew about Department X and the Winter Soldier - which was quite a lot.

"Ha. I told you I wasn't delusional," Steve snapped in Tony's face, and the older man held up his hands in surrender.

"I just . . . can I please request that we don't kill him?" asked Steve in a small voice. "He was my only friend, and now that I know he's alive . . . I mean, it - it means the world to me . . . to have another little piece of my old life, back here in this modern age." He looked down at his feet. "So? Can we please just send him to a mental hospital or a government facility, or . . . anything?"

"Steve. He's a killer. An assassin and a danger to ourselves and everyone else out there," I said as gently as you can say something like that. "Unless he goes back to being Bucky instead of the Winter Soldier . . . we'll have to lock him up."

"I'm not so sure," Clint shrugged. "As Steve suggested - and I mean, if he's really who you say he is - S.H.I.E..L.D might be able to fix him up with a doctor or a program that could help him. There's still the possibility that he's too far gone - or that he won't _want_ help . . ."

"But we'll try. And if it's that important to you, Steve, we won't fire at him. No killing machines," Natasha finished. "Besides, we're the Avengers - we're all about locking the bad guys up, not putting them six feet under."

Everyone slowly nodded, and Steve's expression turned to one of relief. "Thank you, guys. Thank you all so, so much."

Tony clapped him on the back. "Don't mention it, Gramps," he yawned. "Now . . . shawarma time, everyone?"

"We need to delve a bit deeper into this army mess," I shook my head.

"Shawarma after?"

There was a collective sigh throughout the room.

"Anyway," Hank frowned, "he's got to be hiding this army _somewhere_. We need to find it, and then we need an action plan."

"Look, Ant-Man, I know you're a temporary Avenger and all, but -" Tony snapped.

"Oh, just leave him be!" Steve interrupted, exasperated with Tony's snark towards his friend.

"Thank you, Cap," Hank nodded. "Now - ideas? Where said army could be?"

"The sewers," Thor answered without hesitation. "It is the most logical location."

"Or is it?" Janet suddenly said. Everyone turned to her in surprise, startled. I'll admit it, we had all forgotten she was even there.

"Remember the Mandarin's attack a year ago, with the 50 hostages and Sam?" she said in her high, breathy voice. "The media called it the 'Terror on Terra Street.' Those factories were all abandoned, no?"

I nodded. "After the attack, police demanded that security cameras be put in, although people avoid that place like the plague now. The memorial that's been set up isn't even on Terra Street; it's in a town square, a few blocks away."

"Exactly," Janet grinned. "And tell me, Doctor Banner, how easy is it to fool police that an abandoned factory is still abandoned?"

"Simple. They just need to hack the security footage."

"So why not assume the army is being built there?" she asked innocently. "It's a secure, isolated location - and besides, it's an old factory. The perfect place to build robots. Now, Natasha, remember that hotel that you were held hostage in? How far was it from Terra Street?"

"Only a few blocks . . ."

"Right. And we ran into troubles when testing the teleporter you stole, because not only could it be used just for small distances - it had to be used in a certain area downtown."

"The 50 hostages - Sam included - were all kidnapped just another few blocks away from Terra Street," I added in.

Hank beamed at his wife as she kept going. "So we know that the teleporter could only be used in the Terra Street vicinity. That's why we haven't seen it replicated anywhere else; why there haven't been more incidents. Their technology isn't advanced enough. All the puzzle pieces fall together," she smiled, flashing her teeth, "when we keep the Terra Street Terror in mind."

"Well who would've know," Tony, of all people, couldn't help but smile, "that tiny, bubbly fashion designer Janet Van Dyne secretly had quite the formidable mind stuck in her head?"

"What, you didn't think I was as dumb as I pretended to be, right?" her eyebrows creased. "You actually thought Hank - one of the four top scientists in the world - would fall in love with a complete airhead?"

"Well . . ." Tony trailed off.

Janet glared. "Don't answer that. I'm useful, Tony: just face it. I've been keeping it under wraps for a while, that's all. I only talk when I have something to say, and so far, you've all been doing the work for me."

"So, what's the plan of action?" I asked, readjusting my glasses again. "Are we going to launch an assault on Terra Street?"

"Whatever it is, S.H.I.E.L.D will be behind the Avengers 100 per cent," a deep voice sounded from the doorway, and we turned in surprise to see S.H.E.I.L.D Director Nick Fury standing there, eyepatch and all.

"JARVIS! Security breach!" Tony cried upon seeing Fury. "Why the hell am I never alerted to his arrival?"

"I'm sorry, sir," JARVIS announced overhead. "He overrid my security protocols." Tony cursed.

"It's good to see the Avengers finally working together," Fury announced. "But where's Silverman?"

"She, uh, quit," Clint scrunched up his face awkwardly.

"She _quit_? Is that even possible?!"

"It was almost a full year ago, too," I scratched my nose and avoided his gaze.

"Why have I not been alerted?" Fury was furious. "You haven't made a public announcement, or anything . . ."

"Two reasons, actually," Tony stepped forward. "One, S.H.I.E.L.D may fund the Avengers . . . but you don't own us. We're not obligated to tell you anything," he stuck his nose in the air. "And two . . . well, we were kind of hoping she'd come back. That doesn't seem to be happening, though." He tried to exchange a glance with Steve, but the super soldier was staring intensely at the wall beyond Fury's head.

"Um. Anyway," Hank oddly interrupted, ". . . battle plan?"

"Attack Terra Street. Try to do it without setting off any alarms - shut down the robots before they're even turned on," Tony announced, not taking his eyes off Steve.

"And if they do turn on?" I asked.

"We keep the battle to Terra Street, and if that fails, we keep it _off_ the streets," continued Tony. "We don't want to destroy New York again. I actually kinda like this place, believe it or not. So we take the battle away from here."

"To where?" Clint asked, confused.

"Does it matter?" interrupted Fury. "You're too late." We all looked up in shock. "Ultron's made his move. That's why I'm here, dumbasses. The Avengers need to assemble - we're under attack."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hi! Here was the chapter with the mysterious guest writer. In all of your predictions, no one mentioned Bruce Banner :) hope I did him justice!**

**The next chapter's a long one. Like, suuuuper long. BUT, a lot happens - and we have two guest stars! Try and guess who they are. I'll give you a hint: they were alluded to in Melting Silver a couple times, and they're from one of the Marvel Cinematic Movies, although neither appeared in The Avengers. Any guesses?**

**Thanks for all the support, guys - feedback last chapter was amazing :D and YES! WE MADE IT TO 300! Extra thanks to Shadow Realm Triforce for being the 300th reviewer :) I cannot thank you all enough for making this my most successful story ever. It means the world that you're reading and enjoying it, and thank you for following me on my adventures with Sam and the Avengers!**

**Special thanks and a cookie to the awesome reviewers, who make me smile every time: _Selvet, Lady Firewing, ClarinetRox88, GoForTehGig, Laurafxox, brandibuckeye, Wolf Eared Gurl, erica . phoenix 16, cucumbersrockursocks, Shadow Realm Triforce, CeffylGwyn_ and_ roxxirox!_**

**Please review this chapter, and tell me what you thought of Bruce. The story's almost over and the climax is almost here - it's only going to be 25 chapters long! But in the meantime, thank you, please review and READERS ASSEMBLE!**


	21. Something One Creates

Sam Silverman's POV

_People often say that this or that person has not yet found himself. But the self is not something one finds, it is something one creates. _

_- Thomas Szasz_

"Sam? What's this?"

"I dunno, Caterina. Probably just some old shirt . . . you can have it, I don't use that stuff anymore . . ." I said, without looking up from my research.

"This is no shirt. It's a bodysuit. Who even owns bodysuits nowadays?"

My head snapped up, at I looked over at Caterina. She sat on the other side of our apartment bedroom in her wheelchair, rifling through a trunk of my old clothes that I literally hadn't gone through since moving to Rome. My breath caught in my throat when I saw the "bodysuit" she was holding - it was my old Masquerade costume.

. . . I had messed up badly, I'll admit it. I didn't need Tony or Steve to yell at me to tell me that I had screwed up. I had figured it all out by myself.

Relief had been the most prominent emotion, when I finally saw Steve again. And then hope. But before the night was over, we had gone back to where we started: not even talking, because Steve was angry again. And I guess he had every right to be.

I had tried to do my best; I really had. I took on the Winter Soldier - a foe I had never even seen before - all by myself, when Steve was down. I tried to help fight him back. And yet, people still got hurt; they were still angry.

Tony didn't show it, but he was livid that I hadn't used my powers to try and save his life. And not only that, but Caterina had been shot in the knee - the doctors didn't know if she'd be able to walk again. She didn't blame me - she didn't know I had powers that could've helped - but she had every right to. It wasn't fair that she had been shot. She was innocent - she didn't even know _why _we had been attacked.

I leapt across the room and snatched my old superhero suit out of Caterina's hands, explaining nothing. Just the smell of it, the feel of the fabric on my fingers, brought back memories of my time as an Avenger. I examined the suit, which was still in perfect shape: the all-black fabric except for the purple X across the chest; the shoulder cut-off, since it was a long-sleeved suit but with only one arm; the purple strips on the thighs; the accompanying knee-high purple boots and gloves.

Caterina pulled my utility belt out and threw it towards me. I barely caught it, and watched as she pulled out the last piece of my costume: the Venetian masquerade mask that had been the symbol of my heroine.

"I'm not even going to ask," Caterina handed it to me, and then continued rooting through the rest of my stuff, looking for old clothes she could have.

It was almost painful for me to breathe, staring at my old stuff. Shutting my eyes tightly, I couldn't help but think of my last moments with Steve: his anger at me, for not helping enough. And the disappointment and rage in his voice when he said: "Is this what you wanted, Sam? For someone else to be the hero? For someone to save _you_?"

Now, I didn't know what I wanted - but I knew it wasn't that anymore. I had never meant for Steve to get _shot_, taking that bullet for me. It had been non-fatal, but after they took him away in the ambulance and operated on him in the hospital, he demanded to go home right away - without seeing me. And so I concentrated on Caterina; making sure her operations went well. I had just brought her back to the apartment today.

I looked down at the tattoo on the inside of my left wrist. _Masquerade,_ it said. Plain and simple. I had gotten it before my powers, and it was the reason my superhero name was, well, Masquerade. The tattoo was there to remind me: everyone in life wears a mask. You never truly know a person; they're always lying, hiding their true emotions. Their true desires and needs.

So what was it that _I_ desired and needed? Was I masquerading those feelings even from myself?

"I need help," I mumbled under my breath, still staring at my wrist.

"Sorry?"

"I need some advice," I said, a bit louder.

"Well, fire away. I'll try to help."

I looked up at Caterina then, sitting in her wheelchair. Could I really put her in more jeopardy, by telling her all my secrets? I needed to tell someone _everything_ - to just let it all out - and I wanted advice on what I should do. But I didn't think I could put Caterina in the position of knowing I was Masquerade. What if she blamed me for her knee injury? Then where would I be? Probably homeless and friendless.

"Not from you," I concluded aloud, and then sprung out of my chair, flipping through my closet. I had to tell someone who either already knew about Masquerade and the identities of the Avengers, or someone who was _allowed_ to know. And all the people with potential like that were back in the States.

"Caterina, I'm taking an impromptu trip back to the USA," I said. "Cover for me? Tell the school I had a family emergency, or something?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Whatever, Sam. When will you return?"

"Soon, hopefully. I shouldn't be gone more than a week," I pulled a bunch of t-shirts out of my closet; grabbing a suitcase, I stuffed them in.

Where was I going to go for therapy? The person had to know that Steve was Captain America; that I was Masquerade. Obviously, that left only a few options: basically, all the Avengers.

I couldn't very well talk to _Steve_. The advice I was getting would be about him, anyway. And I couldn't talk to Tony; he was furious with me. Natasha was off the list as well: she would undoubtedly just tell me what a screw-up I was, and then drag me back to join the Avengers. Clint and Bruce would both be biased: they'd want me to come back to NYC, too. Janet and Hank, well, they'd be biased to do the opposite. From what little I knew of them, I wouldn't put it past them to judge me.

I wouldn't go to Thor for advice, either - he probably wouldn't even make any sense. My mother was out of the question; if I had it my way, she would never know I was Masquerade. Luke wasn't a good canidate either: he wouldn't even hear my full story before telling me to come back. That left my friends Penny, Dana and Mark - but not only was Dana not talking to me, none of them were allowed to know about the true identities of the Avengers.

Who did that leave? Pepper? She'd probably go and tell Tony right away. I wanted it to be a private, confidential meeting - no one could find out I was searching for advice so extremely like this.

But now I had run out of options. As I stuffed some shorts and pants into my suitcase, I thought it over again - but still nothing. Everyone would have already made up their mind over what to tell me, before I even came to them. I needed someone completely unbiased: if they didn't even know Steve, all the better, because it meant their loyalty to him might not effect their advice. I could to a random person on the street for help like that - but I needed someone trustworthy. Someone who had clearance to know Avengers secrets.

Fury? Hell no. Even though he didn't like me, he would be pissed that I up-and-left the Avengers after all the work he put in to me. Maria Hill? Maybe. But I didn't think S.H.I.E.L.D agents could help me with this: they thought with their brains, not their hearts. I needed someone who could do both.

There was no one left, I realized as I held up my Masquerade suit one last time. Sighing, I stuffed it into the suitcase, even though I wasn't entirely sure I was going to go through with this now.

My cell phone beeped; I pulled it out of my pocket and took a look at the screen. ONE NEW MESSAGE_,_ it said - from Thor.

I rolled my eyes. Ever since he got an iPhone at Christmas, we had been having texting wars (and I had found out just how much the big guy missed me). Thor enjoyed telling me all about his life in Asgard, and then his first time when he came to Earth-

Finally, it hit me - who I could visit. Someone trustworthy with secrets as big as the Avengers; someone unbiased.

So I booked a plane ticket for Santa Fe, New Mexico.

* * *

"Two-hundred and seventy-three dollars," the taxi driver said, looking back at me as we pulled up outside the diner. "I told you, it would've been cheaper to rent a car. It's a long drive from Santa Fe to Punete Antiguo."

"Thanks," I smiled wanly, handing over a wad of cash and getting out of the cab quickly. This was a crazy idea - I didn't know the town, I had left in the middle of school, I had no idea if I would find what I was looking for, I had nowhere to stay - but here I was.

At least traveling made me feel better - as if I was getting somewhere with my life.

I stepped into the diner, pulling my suitcase along behind me. As soon as I walked through the door, through, everyone in there stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me.

I grimaced, taking a seat by the window and ordering a cup of tea when the less-than-friendly waitress came around. I hadn't eaten anything in a full day, but I was too anxious to have food now as I stared out the window at the dusty New Mexican town, filled with people who looked like leftovers that had been thrown away. It wasn't a place I would ever want to live in, that was for sure.

This was the first time I had set foot on American soil in almost a year, and let me tell you, it was a bit nerve-wracking. Everyone here spoke English - that was probably the biggest change. It was going to take me a while to get used to going straight to English as my automatic language again.

Had I made a mistake, but not telling anyone where I was going? By not letting my friends and family know that I was back in the US? No, I decided. I wasn't here to visit. I was here to look for someone who didn't even know me, just so I could get advice. I should've called ahead, though.

God, I was insane.

I didn't even drink my tea: too anxious. I just payed the waitress and left, wandering around town for a bit. After a lot of inquires, I finally got the address I was looking for. Everyone in the town seemed wary of me, or maybe they just didn't like strangers in general. Nevertheless, no one was particularly nice, or even wanted to talk to me in the first place.

After a twenty-minute walk, I found the house I was looking for. It stood right on the outskirts of town, and I was relieved to find a man outside, tinkering with a car.

"Um - excuse me?" I said, coming closer to him. He started, banging his head on the open hood of the car; turning, he looked at me.

"Can I help you with anything?" he asked, his voice gruff.

"I - uh. I'm actually, um, looking for someone . . ." He raised his eyebrows. "A certain Jane Foster?"

"You a friend of hers?" he asked, wiping his hands on a rag. "She expecting you?"

"Um - well, no. You see, she doesn't really know me . . ."

"Oh. Oh, no you don't," he stepped towards me, away from the car. "We don't want any more of your kind around here. We've had it! It's been three years, for God's sake!"

"E-excuse me?"

"You. You're a reporter, aren't you? Another blondie looking for a news story. I thought we had gotten rid of all you a while ago!" he shook his head.

"Sir, I think you're mistaken. I'm - I'm not a-"

"What'll the story be this time? It's been three years. Are you doing some sort of check-up on the town residents? Here to see how we're all doing now, are you?"

"I'm sorry, three years since what?" I narrowed my eyes.

"Since - since the Destroyer came and leveled our town! Since Thor!" he yelled. "For a full year after that, reporters were swarming this place like bugs - that's why the townsfolk are so hostile now, we don't like strangers -"

"Thor! Yes, Thor," I cried, pointing at him. "He's a friend of mine. The reason I even know of-"

"You here to do an Avengers origin story, then? Looking for roots about Thor's past? You missed that crowd, honey, they were all here again a year ago. When Loki came to NY."

"No, no. Listen. I'm Thor's friend, my name is Samantha, he might've-"

The man snorted. "Get out of here."

"I'm not a reporter!" I stamped my foot, standing my ground.

"Oh, right. You're 'Thor's friend'," he snorted. "A psychic, maybe? We've had two of those show up here, claiming to know him. There have been tourists, too, who want to see the sight of Thor's first touchdown on Earth. Or another Asgardian pretender," he rolled his eyes. "There have been a lot of teenagers who think it's funny to act like Asgardians-"

"Look, I don't know who you are," I snapped, "and I understand that _obviously_ you don't like visitors. But you're being incredibly rude, and I'm none of the things you've accused me of being," I looked him in the eyes. "I'm just here to-"

"Hey Erik, you scaring off tourists again?" someone yelled from inside the house. A dark-haired girl with pale skin stumbled out, wearing dark clothing. She looked me over once, and then turned to Erik. "Come inside, dude. You've spent too much time in the sun today."

"Leave," Erik said to me, not moving an inch. "She's a reporter, Darcy, I swear she's here to-"

"Lady Darcy!" I exclaimed, grasping at straws. "You're Lady Darcy!"

She narrowed her eyes and regarded me suspiciously, moving to stand beside Erik.

"Thor - he always called you Lady Darcy," I gasped, as if out of breath.

She took another long look at me, but then turned to go back into the house. "Come on in," she finally said, dragging Erik along and raising her eyebrows at me. "It's too hot out here. You'll get heat stroke."

Inside, she sent Erik upstairs, but then turned to face me, crossing her arms over her chest. "How do you know Thor's nickname for me?" she asked, without beating around the bush.

"Um. I'm his friend," I said slowly, but she snorted.

"Okay look, I'm sorry about Erik's crazy behavior, but we really don't want any more intruders. The townsfolk are wary of all new faces. It'd be funny, if they didn't have good reason for it," she turned away, opening the fridge. "So if you're really a reporter, leave."

I knew I had to try a different tactic before I really did get kicked out. "Look - how can I prove to you that I know Thor personally?"

She rolled her eyes and didn't say anything.

"I - uh - well. Um."

My cell phone beeped then, and I pulled it out. ONE NEW MESSAGE, it read. It was from Caterina, asking if I had gotten to the US safely - but the cell phone gave me an idea.

"Look, Lady Darcy -" she glared "- sorry, just Darcy - I have Thor's cell phone number, and I know you do, too. We'll compare numbers, and since I _know_ they'll be the same - will that prove it to you?"

"Yeah, whatever," she pulled her phone out of her pocket and flashed me the screen. I was right - it was the same number. Smirking, I handed her my own phone.

Darcy's eyes widened. "All right, all right, you're telling the truth," she shook her head. "But - how?"

"My name's Samantha Silverman," I put my phone away, and stuck my hand out for her to shake. She high-fived it awkwardly instead. "And you're Darcy . . ."

"Lewis. That man you met was Erik Selvig," she poured herself a glass of apple juice.

My eyes lit up. "_T__hat_ was Selvig? The same one who worked on the Tesseract?"

Darcy's expression became puzzled. "Okay, now you're creeping me out."

"I - look, I'll explain everything," I ran a hand through my hair, "but I came here to talk to Jane Foster. Is she around?"

Darcy took a sip of her apple juice. "Of _course_ you want to talk to Jane. Everyone always wants to talk to _Jane_. Never _Darcy._ Sometimes Erik, yes, but never Darcy," she frowned. "You friends with her?"

"I - well, no. We've never met, actually."

"And you're sure you're not a reporter?"

"Positive," I forced a smile.

"But you have Thor's number and you know about Erik's work with the Tesseract," she started to circle me, and I'll admit it, I felt a bit intimidated. "Who are you, Samantha Silverman?"

"You can call me Sam."

"That didn't answer my question."

"Can't I explain to Jane?"

"I won't get her unless you tell me. Can't I have a little fun?"

I ground my teeth together. I was aiming to talk to Jane - from Thor's stories, she seemed to be the more sensible one - but honestly, what was the difference? She was in the same not-biased-and-safe-to-talk-about-government-secrets-with boat as Jane. Who knew, maybe her advice could be better than Jane's.

Not that either of them might want to listen to me whine in the first place.

"Okay, look, um. You know the Avengers?" She nodded. "You . . . know the Avenger, Masquerade?"

"What, that one that's been missing for a year?"

"Er, yeah. Her. Wait, how do you know that?"

"I watch TV, dipshit. The Avengers kinda went quiet for a while after that Mandarin business, but then they started going out on patrols and such. She was just . . . never around. News reports always speculated about it, but there was no official word on what had happened to her." Darcy's voice dropped to a mock-whisper. "Some people think she died in that Mandarin attack."

"No official word, huh?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Yep. I follow everything Avengers-related, because I know Thor. And no one ever said what happened to Masquerade. It's all a big mystery."

So they never told the public I had quit. What did that mean? That it never crossed their minds?

Or that they had been hoping I would come back?

"And what do you think, Darcy? If you've been stalking the Avengers, you must have an opinion."

"I haven't been _stalking_ them! Just . . . intensely following," she grinned. "Personally, I think she got scared and ran off. Or she's just staying in hiding. Considering she's only known for being an Avenger, and since she pretty much didn't exist before - or outside - of them, well, maybe she was scared off."

"You're partially right," I frowned. "Alright, Darcy. You want to know who I am? Why I know so much? Because _I'm_ Masquerade. And I'm here because I need to talk to Jane - and, what the hell, why not you - about what I should do with my life."

She stared at me blankly for a few minutes. "I have like, a trillion questions," Darcy eventually said. "Firstly - you're not pulling my leg, are you? You must be lying."

"I - no," I sighed. "I wish. But no."

"Well, you proved to me that you know Thor. Any tricks up your sleeve to show that you're Masquerade?"

"Actually - yes," I said, suddenly relieved that I had brought my costume in my bag. I set it on the floor and unzipped it as Darcy looked on, eyes wide as saucers.

Just then, someone came stomping down the staircase. "Darcy?" a female voice shouted. "There's a galaxy patterning that I -"

The voice halted, and I turned to see a young woman with straight, brown hair and a gorgeous face standing on the stairs.

Darcy smiled, bouncing on her feet. "Jane, meet Masquerade. Masquerade, meet Jane Foster."

I had the sudden urge to curtsy, but quelled it. Instead, I meekly said "Hi", giving a little wave.

"Masquerade like . . . the superhero?" she questioned. I swallowed, nodding as I pulled my costume and mask out of my suitcase.

"This is kind of the only proof I have," I said, handing them both to Darcy.

"Can't you like, set something on fire for me?" she asked, but took the objects anyway and stared at them in amazement. Jane finished her walk down the stairs, coming to rest beside us.

"That's . . . kinda what I'm here to talk about," I shrugged.

And suddenly, with that one motion, everything seemed to crash down on me. The weight - the _insanity_ - of what I was doing. All my losses; the things I hadn't gained. All of it. It was enough to make my knees weaken as my breath left my lungs. If Jane hadn't suddenly stepped forward to catch me, I probably would've ended up on the floor.

Faces flashed through my head, and all I managed to let out was a weak little "Ooh." Steve. Tony. Natasha, yelling at me for leaving. Clint. Steve again. Luke and my dad and my old friend Dana. Daken, Caterina. Over the past year I'd lost so much. And what I did gain - I lost that, too.

Jane dragged me over onto the couch in her artsy living room, and ordered Darcy to grab me a glass of water. "It's just heat stroke," I managed to say, trying to wave her off.

Jane - a woman who I didn't know, and had no business arriving at her home - kneeled in front of me, examining my face with a creased forehead. "No it's not," she finally said. "It's something else. It's the reason you're here." I avoided her gaze as Darcy rushed into the room, the glass of water in one hand and my costume in the other.

"Hey, can I try this on?" she held up the mask, passing me the water.

"Darcy!" Jane scolded, backing away from me and sitting on the couch across from mine; between us was a coffee table filled with scientific magazines.

"No, no, it's okay. Go ahead and put it on," I waved my hand uselessly, taking the water but not drinking any of it as Jane continued to stare me down.

A few minutes ticked by; Darcy put on the mask, danced around, and then took it off. Jane's gaze never wavered as I stared holes in the wall.

"So, uh - Masquerade - what brings you here?" Jane eventually said awkwardly, as Darcy plopped down beside her. "Is it . . . anything to do with Thor?"

"No. He doesn't even know I'm here," I sighed, feeling helpless. "I . . . I guess I came for advice. No - an unbiased opinion. You were the only person I could think of who wouldn't judge based on who you know, and I'm going to assume that since you already know about Thor . . . it wouldn't be too much of a crime to tell you about the Avengers."

"Ooh, gossip," Darcy pursed her lips; Jane smacked her on the leg.

"Go put the kettle on, will you? And bring out a box of cookies," she said sternly; Darcy stuck her tongue out at Jane, but left anyway.

Jane turned to me, sighing. "Sorry about her. She's just . . . I don't know. She's Darcy," she made a face. "Now, um, Masquerade? I honestly," Jane forced a chuckle, "I honestly don't know if I'm the right person. You're completely out of my league," she waved her hands around. "My problems have to do with science and the universe. Yours, well, I'm guessing they're a lot more complicated. And that's saying something, because I'm practically a rocket scientist! So while I'm flattered," she laughed again, "I don't know if I'll be able to help."

"Will you at least listen?" I pleaded. "I came all the way out here from Rome, just so I could have someone to talk to-"

"Whoa, Rome? As in, Italy? I mean - I don't know you, but - of course I'll listen. I'll try, Masquerade, but I don't know if I'll be any good at advice," she nodded.

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling on the verge of a breakdown. Darcy walked back into the room then, thank God, and interrupted some of the tension. Somehow, I found enough strength to open my eyes again and sit back on the couch.

"Jane, my name's Samantha Silverman. You can call me Sam, though," I pulled at my hair, distraught.

"Okay. Okay, Sam. But - but please, don't do that, alright? You're hurting yourself," she reached across the table, gently untangling my hands from my hair.

I wondered what I must have looked like to them. Nothing more than a girl, probably - a young, helpless girl, falling apart at the seams. Someone they had to babysit, maybe. A person who needed help. And you know what? I was all of those things. I was too young to be carrying the weight of my life around.

I finally, finally launched into an explanation of the past two years of my life, and I didn't stop until I was done. Nor did I hold anything back or leave anything out. I told Darcy and Jane all about my dad, about the attack against Loki, about the Mandarin, about Rome and Daken. And of course, most importantly, about Steve.

Both women - who were older and more mature - kept their faces neutral throughout my story. They didn't move or say anything; just waited until I was finished. Here I was, pouring out my life story to two strangers - and they were listening with rapt attention. In the end, when I was a sobbing, shaking mess, they both got up to grab me a blanket, a box of tissues, a cup of tea, and even Darcy's teddy bear. Anything they thought might make me feel better.

"Thanks. I'm so sorry that I'm intruding on your house like this -" I began once I had calmed down, but Jane shushed me.

"Don't worry about it. Seriously - it's fine. You need support. And although I don't really know you . . . you've gone through enough. I'd like to offer whatever services I can," Jane said, settling back down on the couch across from me.

"So, what was it that you needed advice on?" Darcy asked, getting straight to the point.

"What to do with my life," I said dully. "Look, I've never admitted this before, but - maybe I made the wrong decision in moving to Rome. I mean, I love the city. I love the classes at my university. I adore the history and I'm so happy, studying it. But . . ." I took a deep breath. I hadn't even admitted this to myself yet: "I feel so miserable."

"And you think that maybe you should move back to New York? Why?" Jane asked gently.

"Because . . . because life isn't all about work and living in the past. I need to screw my head on and start actually living for now. I can't spend my whole life stuck in another era," I said, and that brought tears to my eyes, since it made me think of Steve.

"And you miss your family and friends, right?" Darcy added in.

I nodded, gulping. "It's so much more difficult than I thought, living half a world away from them. I'm not a particularly social woman, but I rely on my friends a lot. They're my support and usually the reason I even do anything."

"So then why'd you move to Rome?" Jane asked, examining her hands.

"Because I didn't want to be Masquerade anymore. Because I was afraid," I said softly.

"And do you still feel that way?"

"No, I . . . I don't know," I felt like kicking something. "I thought I did. But when the Winter Soldier attacked us, and I was powerless to help - it really upset me. I feel like the whole thing could've been avoided if I had just - and then Steve said to me, he said 'Is this what you want now? For someone else to save you?' And it wasn't what I had wanted, I didn't want him to take a bullet for me, I mean I may not want to be a superhero anymore but Steve thinks I am one anyway and I just don't see it and why was it so easy for me to become Rampage and how can I be a hero if I don't have any powers and I think I've changed my mind I think I want to help again-"

"Okay, Sam, Sam? Calm down," Jane reached across the table and gently took my hand, her voice soothing. "Just . . . breathe, alright? Take it slow." After a pause, she added, "It seems to me that your depression hasn't entirely cleared up yet, Samantha," Jane sat back. "Now, I'm no doctor, but you need help. If you travelled halfway across the world for _our_ therapy, imagine what actual help from the people you love - like Tony or Clint, and dare I say Steve - would do. The depression would explain all the tears; the helpless feelings; the distress. Why you feel miserable, even though you tell me you love what you're doing over in Rome. It's probably an effect of moving so far away without any family or friends - it'd be enough to upset anyone."

"Oh," was all I said, meekly. "Yeah, I - I know. I'm on drugs for it, but I stopped, because I guess I thought it was all cleared up."

"So, you needed advice on what to do with your life, right?" Darcy cut it, oblivious to my breakdown and apparent diagnosis.

"Yeah, but also - about Steve, I - I came to you guys because you don't know him, and your personal opinion of him isn't going to change what you say," I said. "I just . . . I don't know. Should I stay in Rome and have my supposedly normal life that so far, well, isn't so normal? Or should I go back with Steve and - and Masquerade?"

"So that's the big question," Darcy sat back, a tight smile on her face.

"Sam," Jane looked at me with wide eyes, "I'll tell you what I think. But under no circumstance does this mean you should do as I say - this is your decision, not mine."

"That's why it's advice, not directions," I attempted a half-hearted joke. No one even smiled.

"I think . . ." Jane started, ". . . I think you should go back to New York and the Avengers. Just - just imagine that one day, you're walking home from - well, from wherever. And you're perfectly happy with your life. Now, let's say it's raining, just because. So you're walking home in the rain and you're happy with your life - but what is it you want to return home to?"

"I'm confused."

"Well, would you rather go home to a pile of work - a new archaeological dig that you're studying for, maybe - and a warm blanket and a cup of cocoa? Would you go home to that question of 'What would have happened if I stayed an Avenger?' Because let's face it - you know what will happen if you stay in Rome. You'll grow old, live a normal life, maybe have a family. But you'll always wonder about what could've happened if you stayed in NYC. That's the big mystery - it's the road less taken." She took a deep breath.

"Sam, you're a special girl. You've been given a gift. And you'd do good to actually _use_ it. I'm not lucky enough to have powers - if you can call it 'lucky'. And although you complain that you don't think you're the right girl . . . you can _become_ her. Personally, I already think you are. You're the only one who doesn't seem to see that," Jane looked down at her lap. "You know, Spider-Man's motto is 'With great power comes great responsibility.' And I know you don't _want_ to accept that responsibility - you fight it, seemingly with everything you've got - but eventually you're going to have to step up to the plate. Make the most of what you've been given. Adapt. I know it's not fair that your life has to constantly be threatened, but you're doing a good service for the world - you're saving so many others. Sometimes, your greatest sacrifice is giving up a normal life, so you can do the right thing. Protect those you love and all that. Protect the entire human race and planet Earth."

"You never finished your walking-home scenario," Darcy twisted a strand of her hair around her finger, looking slightly bored.

"Oh, right. That," Jane shook the hair out of her eyes. "Tell me, Sam - would you rather return home to your archaeology every day? Or would you prefer to return home to see Steve there, waiting for you?"

I bowed my head. "Steve," I murmured softly, without a moment's pause.

"Life's not worth living if you don't have those you love around you," Jane concluded gently. "It's not all about work. There are people who care about you, Sam, and you'd be doing them a favor by returning to them."

"You're telling me to go back to Steve," I smiled tightly, and she nodded. "And I think . . . I think you're right. I need him - and the others - more than I realize, don't I?"

"Yes. Yes, Sam," Jane smiled brilliantly. "It's not as complicated as you're making it out to be, see?"

"If you had your powers back," Darcy interrupted, off in her own little world, "would you go back and be a hero?"

I had to think about that one. Did I miss my powers, now that they were gone? Did I wish, deep down, I could still use them? Did I want to go back to being the hero, even if it meant lives lost because of me and injuries sustained? Because even through all that . . . I'd still be helping.

"Yes," I finally managed out, deflating. "Yes, I think I'd go back. I want to be an Avenger again. I've made a huge mess of my life, but I think that's what I truly want. But I lost it," I buried my face in my hands, letting my hair fall over my shaking shoulders.

There was a long pause, as some wheels clicked in Darcy's head and a lightbulb seemingly turned on somewhere in there. "Tell me, Sam, have you ever read the Twilight books?"

I scrunched up my face in distaste, looking back up at her. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Just answer the question, okay? I'm going somewhere with this," she replied, as Jane looked on in confusion.

"Yeah, I did when I was younger, I guess," I frowned.

"Aha. So - think of Bella Swan as your new role model."

"Excuse me?! Sorry, but in the book I read, she was a whiny and Edward-obsessed -"

"No, no, you're looking at this wrong."

"This _is_ Stephanie Meyer's _Twilught_ that we're talking about, right?!"

"Yeah. But - okay, look. Bella didn't give a damn what other people thought of her. She was going to do what she wanted, no matter what her parents or her friends or Edward thought of her. Their opinions didn't matter."

"So . . . you're saying I should go to Rome, because I shouldn't care what others think?"

"No! No, no, no. I'm . . . I'm Team Avengers, all the way. Sorry to Rome," she admitted. "I wasn't done. Bella did what she wanted and didn't care what others did - but she did it all for _love_. She went as far as she possibly could, to make sure she would be with Edward. Even if he didn't want it, she would change his mind. And in the end, Bella got what she wanted."

"But I don't know what I want!" I cried, and the urge to kick something came up again.

"You want Steve!" Darcy shouted, standing up and towering above me. "Face it, Sam, you want Steve. You weren't happy in Rome. But whenever Steve's name popped up - in the beginning, at least - your face brightened."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he wants me," I stood up myself and stared her in the face. "He's really freaking pissed off at me right now, and I don't think we can ever go back to how we used to be."

"Shut up, just stop talking!" Darcy spat. "Come on, Sam, he's the best thing that's happened to you since you got those powers. He actually cares about you - which is more than I can say about yourself."

"That doesn't make any sense!" I shouted back.

"You don't seem to care about yourself anymore!" she cried. "It's always just _woe is me, my life sucks, someone save me_ - that's why Steve took that bullet for you, no?"

"Don't you dare use that argument against me!" I stomped my foot, curling my hands into fists.

"Be like Bella Swan, Sam. Keep fighting for Steve, even if he doesn't want you."

"Bella Swan was a twit!"

"She had a happy ending!"

"It was a terrible, _fictional_ piece of literature! Twilight has nothing to do with my life!"

"Sam, you're such a dunce! A complete idiot!" Darcy yelled venomously. "You're a coward!"

"No! No, I'm not!" I pushed her, and she fell back into the couch.

But Darcy sprung right back up onto her feet, ready for more. "You're a coward, you liked it when Steve saved you from the bullet, you're a complete dumbass," she yelled in my face. "Think, Sam! Think about how _angry_ Steve is at you!"

"Darcy! Why are you doing this?!" Jane gasped, leaping up to catch the darker-haired girl's arm.

Darcy shook her off, "I know what I'm doing, Jane," as I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears from spilling out. "Samantha Silverman, you don't deserve the title of Masquerade. You never deserved to be an Avenger!"

"Stop it! Stop!" I shouted, covering my ears with my hands, as if that would block out her terrible words.

"You aren't one of Earth's Mightiest Heroes," she spat. "Just ask Natasha Romanoff! She doesn't like you. And what about Tony? Certainly, he doesn't think you're hero material right now."

"Darcy, please, just stop," I begged.

"Do you remember the fear, when you thought Tony was going to die? Back with the Winter Soldier? You're useless, Sam. You couldn't save him from a house cat. Useless, pathetic, a waste of space! And think of Steve - think of his disappointment - it's one of the worst feelings, no? To have someone you love, disappointed in you. You'd rather they yell and scream!" she shouted.

"Why are you doing this?" I yelled right back. I hadn't been this upset since - since Daken and I last saw each other. When he put that mental mind-block on my powers . . .

"Come on, Sam, think through this! Steve - he doesn't think highly of you anymore, you're nothing to him now, he - yes!" she cried, and I snapped open my eyes. "Sam - you see that pretty lamp over there? It's quite special to me, you know - got it from my mother - now how hard do you think it would be to burn it down?"

In response, the lamp erupted into flames.

Darcy cheered, grabbing me by the elbow and rushing me outside as Jane hurried to put out the lamp. "Now - now look. That cactus, over there," she pointed into the distance. I raised a hand, and the cactus caught fire.

"Come on, come on," she urged me, as I lit up an old sign, lying on the ground. "And - and wind?" I blew the flames away, suddenly feelings the thrill of my powers.

_I had my powers back!_

"Test the other two," Darcy prodded me on, and as the ground started to shake Jane came out to watch in amazement.

"Okay, that's enough of an earthquake," Darcy laughed, and I stopped it as I lifted my hand to the light, transforming the skin, muscles, blood and bones into pure water that dribbled down my arm. Jane and Darcy watched, thunderstruck, as the water began to climb back up my arm and re-take the shape of my hand.

"Oh my god," I choked out, enveloping Darcy in a bone-crushing hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, than-"

"Hey, you said it was just a mental block, right?" she shrugged, interrupting as she squeezed me back. "No biggie. I'm sorry about the things I said, by the way. It wasn't true."

"It's all right," I smiled, letting go of her and rushing over to hug Jane. She was a lot more delicate that Darcy, and patted me on the back gently. "Thank you so much. Honestly, I - if you ever need anything . . . And I'm sorry I invaded your day like this, and forced you to talk to someone you didn't even know . . ."

"Don't worry," she smiled kindly. "I'm just relieved we could help."

Darcy came over, and I hugged both of them at the same time, my excitement exploding as I finally, _finally_ realized what I should do. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you-"

"Hey," Darcy pulled away, grinning as she looked at me. "Thank us by setting things right with Steve and the rest of the Avengers. Okay?"

"Okay," I smiled as she ruffled my hair.

"Okay," Darcy replied, still grinning.

Jane joined in with another brilliant smile. "Go get 'em, tiger."

* * *

**Author's Note: So, our mystery guests turned out to be Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis. No one even came close ;) they were in the Thor movie, if you didn't know, and Jane was Thor's love interest. **

**Last time I'm going to say it: if you haven't read Melting Silver, I highly suggest you do, because it explains all that crap Sam went through in Rome, including the mental mind block that Daken put up! Thanks, guys :)**

**Sorry for the super long chapter! But the action starts soon. And keep your eyes peeled for yet another cameo in the coming chapters - this one from a superhero (with his own movies)! I'm going to assume it shouldn't be too hard to guess ;)**

**Special thanks to the wonderful reviewers: you all make my weeks so much easier to live through! _Shadow Realm Triforce, CeffylGwyn, roxxirox, Lady Firewing, erica . phoenix 16, cucumbersrockursocks, scott6130, Laurafxox, brandibuckeye, ClarinetGirl88, WhatTheF-HaveUDoneLately-Cross, Comiccrazygothgirl, Tbonechick2011_ and_ As The Rush Comes_! Welcome to the new readers and reviewers, and welcome back to those of you that I've missed :)**

**Until next time, everyone! The entire story has already been written, so now it's just a matter of getting off my lazy ass and editing the chapters. Please leave a review and tell me what you thought of Jane, Darcy and Sam's huge epiphany! **

**READERS ASSEMBLE!**


	22. C-3PO

Tony Stark's POV

_He had them as spellbound as a room full of Ewoks listening to C-3PO_

_- Cory Doctorow, __Makers_

". . . So how are we _getting_ there, Tony?"

I glared at Natasha. "Look around you. We're standing in my garage - how do you _think_ we're going to get there?"

"Driving?"

"Obviously."

"But Sam was always the designated driver . . ."

"Look around you again, Nat. Does she look like she's here? No. Now pick a car."

"Wow, okay, I'm sorry I asked . . ."

After the initial rush of everyone suiting up, we were now faced with the dilemma of _getting_ to Central Park. According to Fury's reports, Ultron had sent out a squadron of robots to the Park to "wreak havoc", just like we had predicted. There were sightings of the Mandarin, as well - it all seemed like something out of a bad sci-fi movie.

I looked over at Steve, standing beside me with his full Captain America suit on; even the face cowl was already up. He clung to his vibranium shield tightly, grinding his teeth.

"Last time we faced a threat this size . . ." he trailed off.

"Sam was with us. Yeah, I know. But c'mon, buddy – she refuses to use her powers again, remember? Focus on the positive: we have Hank and Janet now."

"How is that positive? We don't even know if they'll be useful."

I frowned, and then snapped my Iron Man helmet on. "Stop being such a cynic – just enjoy the moment."

"Uh. Okay," he rolled his eyes.

Natasha was taking too long to choose a car (not that there were very many I'd let her drive, since the car was surely going to get wrecked), so I stomped over and tapped a sleek lime-green one.

"This car," I said, "is a Bugatti Veyron Super Sport. Its maximum speed is 267 miles per hour, and it can go from 0-60mph in 2.4 seconds. It's the fastest car in the world. It's Pepper's car, but, you know, she doesn't really use it . . ." I looked over at Steve again. "I gave Sam that exact same speech for her 18th birthday, since I got her the same car," I pointed over at the other Bugatti Veyron in the garage: the hot pink one. "You know what she said to me? 'Tony, I'm freaking 18 years old. I do not need a car that goes this fast. Period.'"

Steve smiled sadly. "That sounds like her."

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, blocking out the memory. "Anyway, Pepper won't mind if we use it. She's never driven it before, and it'll get us there quickly. Clint, take the Quinjet with Hank and Janet. Natasha can be the co-pilot. The rest of you – take the car."

"But that leaves no one as the driver for the car," Natasha sighed. "It's not like we're going to let Thor drive. He can take the passenger seat," she looked at the god. "Steve and Bruce, take the backseat. I'll drive - Clint can pilot the Quinjet on his own."

Bruce frowned. "Why can't I drive? What's wrong with me?"

"No," Nat frowned. "I'm driving."

"Can't I?" Clint interrupted, grinning. "I've always wanted to get behind the wheel of a car that goes this fast."

"No, don't be ridiculous. I'll drive," Nat shook her head.

"I'm the one who flies the Quinjet – so I should drive the car, too!" Clint exclaimed.

"You're right, Clint – you _do_ fly the Quinjet! So go load up!" Natasha snapped.

"Maybe I should drive," Hank stepped in, trying to help. "I can keep a cool head, I think-"

"No way, I'm the one who actually has my _own_ Bugatti Veyron," Janet snapped. "I know how this car will work."

"Doctor Banner should drive – he'll need the space, so he doesn't hulk out," Steve tried helpfully. "Or, you know, maybe I should drive for once . . ."

I rolled my eyes as they continued bickering. Thank god I could fly.

"Do you know how much time we're wasting?" Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. "I'll drive. End of story."

"No way, Natasha. You always get to do everything!" Clint fiddled with his bow.

Hank interrupted, "I think Bruce would be a bad driver. I mean, I'm sure he's a _good_ driver, just not when we're trying to rush through New York traffic . . ."

It was at that point that Bruce hulked out: he bellowed, growing in size and ripping straight through his shirt as he turned green and huge. The Hulk let out one roar - obviously fed up with all the fighting - and then broke straight through my wall, bounding off in the direction of the park as the pedestrians outside shrieked.

"Well, that takes care of one problem," I muttered sarcastically.

"Here, just let me drive," Steve tried again. "I led the Howling Commandos and the Invaders perfectly fine on my motorcycle; I can drive you all in this fancy car-"

"No offence, Cap, but I would rather let _Thor_ drive than you," Natasha snapped rudely.

"YES! Let me drive!" Thor bellowed (not unlike the Hulk). He pointed his hammer to the sky, and storm clouds gathered along the ceiling. "I will be good - I will drive my fellow warriors in a desirable fashion-" lightning struck his hammer, charging it, and before we could blink he sent the lightning right at the car. "Watch as I commence the motor of this Midgardian machine! I will load extra power into your puny human invention!"

The motor in the hood sizzled, popped, and exploded. Everyone was knocked to the floor by the force of the blast, ducking for cover as the entire car erupted in flames.

"Well, there goes your ride," I grumbled, picking myself up off the ground.

"What about the pink one?" Steve asked, staring at it.

"That's Sam's . . ." I sighed heavily. "But you know what, go ahead. It's not like she's coming back."

In the end, I made the decision: Natasha was to drive, and a pouting Clint was sent to the Quinjet with Hank and Janet. Steve was kicked to the backseat all by himself – just like usual. Thor got the passenger seat all to himself, but only after we gave him a lesson on lightning and cars.

"I'll fly over; scope the area from above," I said as they got in. "You all have your Bluetooth earpieces? You know, the, uh, communicators? . . . Can we just call them 'comms'?"

There was a chorus of agreement. "Tony, couldn't you have picked a more . . . subtle color? And car?" Nat asked, sighing as she stared at the hot pink.

"Shut up, Nat. I liked it," I frowned, and then took off, putting everything into the boosters as I flew out the hole in the wall that the Hulk had created.

We were late, I'll admit that. The New York Police Department was already evacuating citizens from the streets and buildings surrounding the park, and a SWAT team had set up a perimeter. Fury's S.H.I.E.L.D troops had entered the park a few minutes before I got there, and were trying to isolate the threat and remove the civilians still in the park.

"Situation looks stable, for the moment," I admitted, flying overhead. "It's hard to see anything through the trees." I knew everyone was listening trough the 'comm', so I kept talking, "but I think the park's still full of people. JARVIS, use sonar technology to -"

"Already on it, sir," the computer responded, and it digitally removed the trees and bushes from my vision so that I could see everything on the ground.

"Ah. Okay, guys. Looks like there's no real order to this chaos," I grumbled. "I can see robots. Robots everywhere. They appear to be fairly basic; should be easy to disarm or shut down. They're like zombies – just knock off their head or rip the wires out of their chests and they die."

"Only Tony would make a zombie reference," Nat's voice crackled over the comm. "Tony or . . . Sam."

"Ha, ha," I said snarkily. "Listen up, darlings," I flew lower, closer to the trees. "These robots don't seem to be doing anything in particular. They're not in order, they're not in formation, and they're just creating chaos. Maybe Ultron accidentally sent his army out before he was done programming them."

"But they've still been built for destruction, right?" Clint asked.

"I suppose," I said distractedly, catching a glimpse of the Hulk, splashing around in one of the ponds with a few robots clutched in his fists. "Listen, guys, we need a plan. Cap?"

"Already on it," he replied smoothly. "Our main focus should be to keep the robots in the park – SWAT's already concentrating on that. Get S.H.I.E.L.D on it too, Black Widow. Can you radio Fury?"

"Sure thing."

"Good. Now, Hawkeye, I need you on the roof of a building near the park. You're our sniper, but also our eye. Anything bigger comes our way, you let us know."

"Roger that, Rogers," Clint said smugly.

"But for now, I want you in the park with me and Widow," Steve went on. "We need to evacuate the civilians. That's our other main objective. We'll start from the center, and work outwards – NYPD is already evacuating those on the outskirts. We need to get to those in the center, where they're in more danger. Iron Man, you know the park better than anyone, and you've got JARVIS on your side. Use that to your advantage – fly around, help where it's needed, but don't stay in one place. Keep us posted on the layout of things."

"Got it," I said, turning tail and zooming towards the north.

"Oh, and everyone, leave the Hulk alone," Steve said with a smile in his voice. "He's smashing." Someone actually chuckled.

"Thor, you're on the ground fighting, got it? Try not to use the lightning – wait, never mind. Use the lightning. It'll short out their circuits, won't it, Tony?"

"Yeah. Potentially, it should fry them – they don't look like they could handle the power Thor's lightning has. My suit might be able to, but these robot warriors are cheap; low-class," I said.

"Right. And Sam, you-" There was an awkward pause as Steve realized what he had just said.

A slight cough sounded over the comm, and then Janet spoke, trying to erase the mistake. "What about me and Hank? What do we do?"

"Janet, you join Tony in the skies – you can fly, right? You've got wings. Take over Hawkeye's watching-for-bigger-threats job until he's off the ground," you could hear how thankful Steve was for her interruption. "If you feel powerful enough to fight – go ahead. Just be careful. I don't know your power level. And Hank-"

"I think I already have a job for myself," said my old friend. "I'm not a superhero like you guys, let's face it. I won't be able to take out entire squadrons of robots," he admitted. "But if Ultron's here – I'll know how best to take him down. He's got my brain-waves, after all," he attempted a laugh.

"We're here," Clint spoke over him, and I looked up to see the Quinjet touching down in Central Park.

"Wait! I'm not done," Hank cried. "Listen. You guys can't go around fighting this entire army. It's pretty damn huge – and it'll take hours before all the robots are cleared out. That's counting that none of them escape the park. We need something bigger, that'll get rid of them all."

"An electromagnetic pulse," I said, wondering why I hadn't thought of it before. "I have one in a wrist panel - and Cap's got one in his utility belt-"

"Tony, only use that in emergencies," Hank warned. "It releases a lot of radiation; it's potentially dangerous. No, I was thinking more along the lines of an explosively pumped flux compression generator."

"Uh . . ." Cap trailed off, amid Nat's comment of "We've arrived, too, on the southwest side."

"It's a type of electromagnetic pulse, but it's safer to use," Hank explained. "It shuts down all electronics within the area. Unfortunately, that also means it'll stop Iron Man's suit . . . and Tony's arc reactor. I'm not kidding when I saw it shuts down _everything._"

"In that case, warn me before you use it, so I can get the hell out," I grumbled.

"Cap, if you don't mind – I'll take care of the explosively pumped flux compression generator," Hank finished. "Tony, Bruce and I are the only ones who even basically understand it – and both of them aren't in positions to go hunting or building one right now."

"Alright, Hank," Cap said in resignation. "You do your thing. But keep us posted. Everyone understand their role?" A multitude of voices tumbled over the comm, affirming what Cap said. "All right then . . . Avengers, move out!"

I flew off to meet up with Janet and do a lap, when something down by Fort Clinton in the park caught my eye. "Guys? I've got a Mandarin sighting."

"You wanna take him, Tony?" Cap asked.

"Hell yes. We have unfinished business."

I narrowed my eyes and switched directions, now flying towards the tall Asian man, still dressed in the same ugly yellow and green robe. He didn't even see me coming as I completely slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. We both went flying backwards into a tree, and it snapped in half.

I groaned, ignoring the sudden ache in my bones and getting to my feet. The Mandarin barely had a moment to move before I kicked him in the face, sending him back into the ground.

"Iron Man. It's taken you long enough to get here," the Mandarin said, grinning as he spat blood out of his mouth.

"Get up, Orange Boy," I prodded him with my foot. "I won't fight you sitting down."

He sighed, looked around, and then stood. Within the moment I smacked him across the face, my armor scraping his cheek.

The Mandarin, obviously realizing it wouldn't hurt me if he hit my armor, held up his hands. For a second I thought it was in surrender – but then I remembered the rings.

I was frozen – my suit literally iced over – as the Mandarin smiled falsely at me, his beard twitching. Suddenly, the scene around us changed. We were now standing in what appeared to be the desert; sand dunes went on for as far as the eye could see, and a ferocious wind whipped it against my suit. I could smell the sand and feel the heat, even though I _knew_ I was still in Central Park.

"Mento-intensifier ring," I shouted over the swirling wind. "Creates illusions in the mind that can trick all the senses," I recited from Hank's notes.

"Very good," the Mandarin nodded. "You are not as incompetent as I believed." A swirling vortex of sand suddenly appeared, heading straight towards me. I struggled to break through the ice, and managed to succeed just in time. I avoided the vortex and flew towards the Mandarin, picking him up by the front of the shirt collar and lifting him off the ground, flying into the sky as the desert disappeared from around us.

The Mandarin laughed insanely, and we began to sink back towards the ground, even though my boosters were still on full. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about the White Light ring that increases gravity?" he raised his eyebrows, as we touched back down on the ground – and kept sinking through the earth.

He shoved away from me, breaking through the gravity barrier and sending an electrical shock through my suit. My lights flickered, and died; I lost all power as the Mandarin set the trees around us on fire, burning down the park.

"No!" I cried, watching as the flames caught onto other trees and began to spread. My suit still hadn't come back online, as one tree cracked and fell over. It narrowly avoided the spot where I was still being pulled into the ground, and I could feel the heat of the flames making me sweat.

"Hey, Tony!" a tiny, high-pitched voice cried; something zoomed past my ear. "You look a little down!"

"Janet?!" I said in astonishment as I ignored her bad pun, watching as she flew circles around me, tiny as a bug.

"No way, I'm the Wasp now," she smiled blindingly. "You still find it weird to see me in a costume, don't you?"

"Jan – talk later – help now!"

"Oh, right. Sorry," she blushed, and flew off on tiny transparent wings that had appeared in her back. The Mandarin didn't see her coming, because of her small size; she zoomed right up to his face and blasted him with the light beams from her palms. And even at the size of a wasp, those beams packed a punch – they broke his concentration, and suddenly the gravity was lifted from me.

My suit still wouldn't come back online, so I had to manually climb out of the hole I had made in the ground. Janet zoomed around the Mandarin, infuriating him because he couldn't catch her. She giggled, and she shot him in precise places with the beams from her palms – In the ear, on the neck, up the nose. At one point she zoomed around his head in lightning-quick circles, making him dizzy.

In anger, the Mandarin deployed that damn Black Light ring, and he surrounded us in a pod of darkness. I ran blindly towards him, connecting with something hard; judging by the 'oof' it made, I could tell it was the Mandarin. We both fell to the ground, and we grappled with each other.

"Jan- Wasp!" I cried, catching myself. "His hands! Get the rings off!"

Something suddenly picked us both up, crushing me in its huge hand. For a moment I thought it was the Hulk - but when light finally returned, I saw that it was Janet again, who had grown to giant-size.

"I don't like this guy," she frowned, peering at the Mandarin and holding him up to her face. There was another buzzing noise in my ear, but this time, it wasn't Janet – my suit was working again.

I didn't wait to blast the Mandarin in the back of the head with my most powerful repulsor – the uni-beam out of my chest, right where my arc reactor was – and he replied with a blow from the concussive force ring. Janet gasped as if it was a heinous crime, and started to shake him up and down vigorously. Like a salt and pepper shaker. It was actually kind of funny.

The Mandarin yelled in fright, and she dropped him, letting him fall a good twenty feet to the ground. "Jan, I can take it from here," I said, and she put me down gently.

"Course you can. My husband's here," she smiled.

I looked around to see a hoard of ants, crawling towards us. At the front of them was Ant-Man, running as fast as his non-athletic legs could carry him.

"Hank! You're supposed to be finding that electromagnetic pulse machine," I yelled over at him.

"Explosively pumped flux compression generator," he corrected me, "and did you think I was going to leave you when you were in trouble?" he asked, shaking his head. "Tony, you're my best friend. We haven't been on very amiable terms recently, I'll admit it – you're still mad at me for being Ant-Man. I . . . wanted to make it up to you. I thought if I apprehended the Mandarin, you'd forgive me."

I sighed. "Hank, there's nothing to be forgiven. I'm sorry I've acted like an ass, but let's face it, I _always _act like an ass. But seriously . . . the Mandarin was _my_ fight. You could've left me alone," I glared, as ants started to swarm over our foe's body.

"I'm sorry," he hung his head. "You're right: I'm not meant for the superhero stuff. I should be sticking in the lab. What kind of a power is talking to ants, and shrinking size? At least Janet's got her light beams," he glanced up at his wife.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're a hero just when you're the scientist Hank Pym," I patted his shoulder awkwardly. "Go find that pulse machine. Do your part for the team – you potentially have the most important job."

He smiled sheepishly. "I've already tracked the machine down. It's not too far away; in a university on the island of Manhattan. I just need to bring it over here."

"And no one but Ant-Man can do that, don't you think? Who else has an army of bugs that can lift five times their weight?"

"Yeah, the machine's pretty heavy," he frowned. "Alright, fine. I'll be seeing you. Finish off the Mandarin for me, Tony."

"You know I will," I nodded.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said as he began to run off. "The park's on fire."

I sighed, turning to the Mandarin. He now lay panting in the ground, as if it was taxing to be mauled by ants. The bugs had since disappeared, and with them, they had taken the rings. Maybe weak little Ant-Man _did_ know what he was doing.

"I'll go do another sweep of the park," Janet said in my ear, back in wasp-size. She zoomed off – just as something whacked me on the head from behind.

"Well, I was wondering when you guys would show up," I turned to face a small army of robots. "It certainly took you long enough."

I grabbed the radiation-leaking electromagnetic pulse charge out of my wrist, and threw it into the center of robots. This, I decided, was an emergency. I had to take care of the Mandarin, and get out of this inferno, and deal with these minions-

But when I turned around, the Mandarin was gone.

I swore colorfully. How-

And then I glimpsed Ultron, standing just a few feet away with the Mandarin by his side.

I cursed again, and shot a repulsor beam, but it glanced right off Ultron's newly-upgraded armor. "I will not fight you now, Iron Man," he – it? – said in a perfectly robotic voice. "We shall meet again. But not now."

I deployed a missile from my shoulder panel and sent it straight for him, but Ultron and the Mandarin were already gone.

Turned around, I found that all the robots I had previously encountered now lay on the ground, twitching and short-circuiting. I flew out of there as the trees continued to burn around me, and found a place in the park where the heat wasn't making me sweat. There was another gaggle of robots, and I quickly took them out.

"We're got a situation," I reported over my comm. "The park's on fire and the Mandarin's missing. Plus, I spotted Ultron," I said gravely.

"I'll call in the fire department," Clint said.

"There is a human spider also in the park," said Thor, in his deep voice.

"Excuse me?" I frowned, finding another group of rogue robots.

"Never you mind. I have taken care of the situation," Thor finished cryptically.

I rolled my eyes, concentrating instead on the fight. I put all my anger at losing the Mandarin into every blast. But, at least we had his rings, and without them he was hardly even a threat-

"Tony! Where's Steve?" a panicked voice suddenly shouted out of nowhere.

"What the hell? Who's there?" I asked, grabbing a robot by the back of the neck.

"WHERE'S STEVE?" the voice pressed, as I shoved my other hand in the robot's face and melted it off with my repulsor beam.

Behind me, I could hear the mystery person throwing punches, grunting with the effort of hand-to-hand combat. A robot came up to my left, distracting me as I took it out.

"Three o'clock, Tony," the voice hollered; I turned sharply to find another two robots heading straight for me. Making short work of them, I finally managed to get enough breath to-

"Behind you!" my mysterious helper screamed, as something smacked me on the head hard enough to knock my helmet askew. I clamored to the ground, turning quickly to try and defend myself – but it was no use. The robot had caught on fire.

Alright, I'll admit it, I gasped when she finally turned towards me. She looked almost exactly the same as she had last time I saw her like this: a few rips in the costume here and there, a hole in the glove, dirt and grime smeared across her face, blood dripping down her forehead onto the feathers on the side of her mask.

Masquerade.

No, wait.

_Sam_.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I gaped, as she reached out a hand to help me up.

"Saving your ass, apparently," she responded with that good old sass of hers that I had missed so much. "That robot would've taken your head clean off if I hadn't . . ."

"Set it on fire," I finished for her. "You - you're using your powers again?"

"I told you, Tony – it wasn't that I didn't want to use them. I was that I _couldn't _use them. But it was just a mental block – I had some friends help me through it," she grinned. "Ten feet behind you, Tony." I turned and quickly blasted three robots into oblivion.

"And how the hell did you get to Central Park? I thought you were in Rome?"

"It's a long story," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "But – I'm here to make things right. Are we cool? I'm sorry about the incident with the Winter Soldier . . ."

"We can talk later," I said, neglecting to accept her apology as she turned and lit a robot five feet away on fire. "But for now - sure. Truce. We'll need another ally in this fight," I nodded.

"Where's Steve? I need to talk to him," she frowned. "It's an emergency." I raised my eyebrows, not that she could see.

"Well, yeah, we're kind of in the middle of an emergency right now . . ."

She glared through her mask. "I'm going to move back to New York City, Tony."

I regarded her coolly for a few seconds, while she stared me straight in the eyes – and I could tell, she was dead serious. "Now where is he?"

I sighed, and spoke into my comm as she turned and punched another robot in the face. "Steve, there's a school bus filled with orphaned babies and puppies near Belvedere Castle, in the park," I said. "They're in need of your assistance."

"On my way," his voice crackled through, and I turned back to Sam.

"He's near Belvedere Castle," I nodded earnestly, turning the microphone of the comm off.

She gaped at me. "Is there really a school bus filled with-"

"No, but he's gullible enough to want to save anything," I rolled my eyes.

"Thanks, Tony," she smiled.

"As much as it pains me to admit it," I said teasingly, "it's good to have you back." Sam nodded once, and then turned to flee, but I put a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, and Sam?" I said, and she turned back to look at me.

". . . Good luck. We've missed you."

* * *

**Author's Note: Hello, everyone. How're you all doing? Hope your week has been fine - first week of October? Anyone planning on dressing up for Halloween at the end of the month?**

**So, just to let you know - this isn't the last story. There's going to be another one, since this is a trilogy. I hope you'll continue to read about Sam and the Avengers :) I'm having a lot of fun writing it, especially because I actually get to explore Sam and Steve's relationship a lot more, and I hope you'll follow me over there! It'll be called . . . wait for it . . . _Silver Flames. _Yeah, in case you haven't noticed by now, all the titles have the world "Silver" in them, since it's part of Sam's last name :P**

**Oh, and I don't think I've said this before - the cover of this story? It's a picture of Sam, superimposed over a picture of the Roman Forum. There's an enlarged picture on the website (type it into the URL bar without the spaces - lexiblazefanfiction . webs . com)**

**Thank you so, so much for all the feedback on the last chapter! It was amazing. I cannot thank you all enough :D You honestly make this writing experience so much more fun - I love hearing from everyone. Special thanks to the reviewers: _ClarinetRox88, roxxirox, Tbonechick2011, Lovergirl24, cucumbersrockursox, brandibuckeye, erica . pheonix 16, Of-Thieves-And-Liars, 12141998, Laurafxox, Shadow Realm Triforce, Blue bot, GoForTehGig, Lady Firewing, Hope's Survival,_ and CeffylGwyn! Welcome to all the wonderful new reviewers, and I hope you enjoy the ride ;)**

**Thanks again, everyone, for both reading and reviewing! Your support is the greatest; thankyouthankyouthankyou :) Until next time, guys (and did anyone catch the cameo forshadowing?) ;) Please leave a comment, telling me what you thought!**

**READERS ASSEMBLE!**


	23. Wondering why the Hell you Went

Steve Rogers' POV

_Most of American life consists of driving somewhere and then returning home, wondering why the hell you went._

_- John Updike_

I didn't tell anyone this, but on the inside, I was desperately hoping to see the Winter Soldier.

Nat believed we had to kill him, but I disagreed. Somewhere in the Soldier, Bucky was hiding. He would _never_ consciously do the things that the Soldier's done. And it was up to me to fix that. I needed to show Bucky that he was a good person still - even if he didn't know it himself.

The situation in the park was pandemonium. Most of the robots were on the south side, cornering civilians. I arrived, flanked by Natasha and Clint, just in time.

I threw my shield, and it bounced off three robots consecutively, before returning to my hand as they fell to the ground.

"They haven't harmed any citizens yet, Cap," Nat shouted over the sound of her gunfire as she unloaded bullets into the hostile forces. "They're just stirring the pot at the moment."

I helped a family up from the ground, pointing them in the direction of safety. Over my shoulder, Agent Barton stuck to hand-to-hand combat - he didn't want to waste arrows on robots that weren't doing anything. Not yet.

What can I really say? We took the army down, simple as that. Helped a few innocent people along the way. For the time being we stuck to destroying robots; literally knocking their lights out and pulling wires from their brains. Ultron needed a better army. These things were too easy to beat.

"Cap, there's a school bus filled with orphaned babies and puppies near Belvedere Castle, in the park," Tony's voice crackled over the speaker in my ear. "They're in need of your assistance."

"On my way," I replied curtly. It was just one rescue call, after another. "Natasha, are you okay on your own?" I turned to ask her. "Clint - I want you up top now."

"Don't worry about me," Nat said grimly. "I'm just here. Blasting metal. No big deal."

"I'll be there as soon as I can, Cap," Clint replied. "Count on it."

"I am," I nodded, and then took off, running through the park towards the castle. I didn't know much about it, just that it was a tourist attraction of some sort-

"OOF!" I cried, as something leapt out of a tree and landed on my back; I fell to the ground, splaying out as my shield rolled away.

There was the click of a gun, and I felt it being pressed against the back of my head. "Funny, I thought this would be harder."

I recognized that voice - and it was definitely Bucky's.

"Dear old Captain America doesn't watch his back," he laughed coldly.

"Well, neither do you."

It was Natasha - she had followed me, sensing that something was afoot. She knew the Soldier would try and attack once I was on my own. And thank God she was here now - he would've blown my brains out if she hadn't interfered.

Natasha flipped the Solder - Bucky - off me, and I scrambled to my feet, running for my shield. She kicked him under the chin, and his head snapped back, but soon enough he retaliated with a kick to her stomach.

"I don't want to fight you, Natalia," he massaged his chin while she found her breath. "We're supposed to be partners - and this is my fight with Cap. Not you."

"We are not partners, James. Cap's your partner," she jumped and flipped over him; once she was on the ground behind him, she kicked out with her leg and knocked his ankles out from underneath him.

"You call him James?" I exclaimed in surprise. "I mean, that's his first name - he's James "Bucky" Barnes - but-"

"Who the _hell_ is Bucky?" he grunted, pulling a gun from his belt and aiming it at her. I took action then and threw my shield, knocking the gun out of his hand.

"Go, Agent Romanoff. I need to do this alone," I said softly, running forward to catch my shield. They both ignored me, and instead engaged in a fast-paced hand-to-hand combat.

Natasha tried to punch Bucky, but her fist glanced off his arm while he blocked it. She came around with the other fist, and smacked him across the face. He snapped forward, aiming for her head, but Nat whipped her head back just in time. Bucky used her momentary loss of balance to push her in the chest; Natasha was too quick though, and grabbed his hands as they came toward her, bending the fingers back and then pulling him off balance.

Bucky hammered her in the face with the side of his bionic arm, but Natasha put her hands on his shoulders, flipping over him again. She reached into his gun holster and pulled out another gun, pointing it at his back - and releasing the safety catch.

I threw my shield at her, hitting her flat in the chest and knocking her down. "Don't kill him!" I cried, leaping forward to reclaim the shield. "I'll stop him. _Someone_ has to, and it's going to be me . . . I won't fail him again."

"Cap, this is no time to be getting sentimental. He's a murderer, a trained killer, and if we put him in prison he'll just break out-" Natasha spat her hair out of her mouth.

Bucky reached forward with his bionic hand, hitting me right in the face. It stunned me, and I stood there like a fool for a moment, staring at him in wonder. This man - with the brutually cruel face and long hair, the barrel-chest and cold eyes - he was Bucky, without a doubt. At least, he used to be.

"You can't do this alone, Cap," Nat jumped up from where she had fallen on the ground. "You need my help. I know him inside out-"

"But you don't!" I yelled, holding my shield in front of me as Bucky punched it with his bionic arm. The strength of it surprised me, and I stumbled back a few feet, but didn't fall. "You don't know Bucky, Natasha."

"But I know the Soldier! I used to love James!" she finally admitted, and I swear to God, as strange as it was, she looked like she was about to cry.

I held my ground, withstanding another punch from the bionic arm. "Go find that school bus Tony was talking about," I yelled at her. "I'm busy here."

"It's useless, Steve," she tried to reason with me, fiddling with the bracelets on her wrists. "He's too far gone; Bucky won't come back." I grunted against the force of another blow, sliding backwards a bit in the dirt. "And he's too much of a liability. He needs to die."

"NO!" I bellowed, as I kicked Bucky in the face. He fell backwards and crashed into a tree, taking a moment to catch his breath.

Natasha ignored me, dodging forward to use her famed Widow's Bracelet on the temporarily downed Bucky - if she got within range, I knew it would deliver a shock of 30,000 volts to his system, probably killing him.

"Stop it, Natasha!" I cried, and in desperation, I leapt forward to catch her around the waist and knock her off-course. She screamed, fighting at me viciously, scratching at my face; my mask came off, but I didn't bother fixing it.

"You promised you wouldn't hurt him," I pinned her to the ground. "Don't you remember? Please, Natasha, I'm begging you, Bucky's in there somewhere -"

"He has no memories of who he used to be, Steve. He's a programmed assassin, and there's no way you're going to be able to bring him back," she spat. "We need to kill him. _He's too dangerous_."

"No killing!" I picked her up slightly, and then slammed her back into the ground.

She winced. "Cap, even you know that whenever we try and put a villain in prison, he always ends up escaping. Not only is the Soldier powerful enough to do that - he's got friends in high places. People that'll break him out of custody. And we can't have that-"

"Agent Romanoff-"

"It's _not_ Bucky. Not in the way that matters."

"Not to you."

She bared her teeth. "The only parts of him left are the parts that know how to _kill_, Steve."

"You're blaming the gun, not the person pulling the trigger. He's following orders - none of it is his fault."

"Listen to you! You're looking for any old excuse to prove that you're right," she sounded exasperated. "You're just like Sam. I _told_ her moving to Rome was a stupid idea; I drilled it into her head, acted like a complete bitch - but she was too damn stubborn."

"Don't you dare talk to me about Sam like that," I slammed Natasha into the ground again.

"Bucky isn't your partner - your friend - anymore!" she gripped my forearms tightly, trying to push me off.

"That doesn't change the fact that now he's walking around out here, working for the very people he spent his life fighting!"

"Hey, you know, while you two were off bickering like an old married couple . . . I actually went off and took care of the bad guy for you."

We both turned to see Hawkeye, standing beside a crumpled Bucky. There was an arrow in Bucky's back, and another in his calf.

"Sorry," Clint shrugged. "But if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. And I saw you were in trouble, so . . ."

I got up hastily, pushing Natasha away. "Hawkeye and Black Widow, go to Belvedere Castle and take care of that schoolbus. _Now_."

"Well, a 'thank you' could've been in order . . ." he grumbled, but grabbed Tasha's elbow and dragged her away anyway, despite her angry protests.

I jumped over beside Bucky, pulling the two arrows out of him. "Buck - are you alright? Look, I know you're confused, but I think - if we get you back to Stark Tower - we can fix things, fix your amnesia-"

"I think you've got me confused with someone," he grumbled under his breath, "who actually gives a damn what you think!"

He whipped a knife out from one of his multiple pockets, stabbing me. Bucky aimed for my heart, but I had reacted and stood up just in time - the knife entered my thigh, going in up to the hilt.

I gasped in pain, my vision becoming blurry. "Thank God," Bucky grumbled. "I thought those two would never leave. This is _our_ fight, Captain America, and I wasn't going to let them spoil it," he pulled the knife out with a sickening squelch as I struggled through the pain.

Bucky hit me in the head with his bionic arm, and I went down hard, landing awkwardly on my shield. He frowned, standing and gazing down at me, bleeding on the ground. ". . . That punch should've killed you."

". . . Tried to . . . kill me . . ." I gasped, unbelieving as I put my hand to the blood flow in my thigh.

My ears rang and my head ached as I struggled to my knees, baring me teeth through the pain. "Is this really all you are now? Was Natasha right?" I asked, still unable to fully grasp the fact that this was really happening. "Is there no part of you that knows what you used to be?"

"Shut up!" he roared - and I realized I was finally cracking him.

"You were better than this!" I got to my feet, suddenly acutely aware that my helmet wasn't on anymore. Bucky could see my entire face - was it triggering something, in his mind? I could only hope so . . .

"Shut up!" he bellowed again. "YOU DON'T KNOW ME!"

Bucky ran at me, but I grabbed him by the forearms, crouching low and flipping him completely over me. I ignored the throbbing pain in my thigh, working through it - I had been through worse. I could keep fighting. I just needed to break the Winter Soldier.

"And you don't know how much I wish that was true," I said, after he slammed into a tree and crumpled to the ground.

"You're wrong!" he shouted, and pulled out a gun. Bucky fired at me three times, but each bullet glanced off my shield, which I brought up in front of me. He lunged forward and I fell onto my back; Bucky stood, towering over me.

"REMEMBER! Remember who you really are!" I said darkly, hiding underneath my shield.

"You were supposed to be tough, but this is . . . weak!" he said, sounding like a child whose favorite television show was suddenly cancelled. "Remember who I am?! The only thing I am - is the man who's gonna to kill you!"

Bucky pulled out a gun, and I saw it as my last chance. He _had_ to remember now - or else Natasha was right, and there was no going back for him. For my best friend.

"Fine," I sighed in defeat, getting up and kneeling a few feet in front of him. I put my shield down and held my hands up. ". . . Then go ahead. Shoot me."

He furrowed his eyebrows, looking confused.

"If you truly don't know me . . . then just do it."

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his expression harsh. The safety catch of the gun clicked off; I watched his finger begin to press down on the trigger.

I snorted. "I'm sure you wanna know what makes me so special though, don't you?" I asked mockingly; his eyes widened slightly. "And the answer?" I shook my head once. "Nothin'. I'm just a kid from Brooklyn."

Bucky's eyes widened; his mouth dropped open, and the gun slipped from his grasp. It fell on the ground with a clatter, and I grabbed my shield, unable to keep the sudden smile off my face. I had-

Suddenly, a humanoid shape slammed into Bucky, knocking him off his feet. He went skidding across the ground, tangled with the shape; they slid to a stop. Bucky was pinned to the ground by his captor, who sat on his chest. They hit him across the face once, twice, three times, pounding his head into the ground with feminine grunts.

"You asshole!" Masquerade shouted in his face - because it was her who had attacked my old partner. "You tried - you tried to shoot Cap, and I swear to god," she hit him again, "if you had hurt him, I would have made your life a fucking hell on earth, you goddamn-"

Bucky bellowed in pain, but then flipped her right off him, throwing Sam to the side. He got up and kicked her, but then grabbed her by the hair and lifted her up. Bucky hit her across the face with his bionic arm; she screamed and collapsed on the ground, panting in pain as she pushed herself up.

"You tried to hurt Steve-" she glared, raising her hands to face the Soldier.

"I'm his _friend_, you insolent girl!"

"Friend, my ass!"

Bucky's face suddenly caught fire; he ran forward blindly, trying to pat it out with his hands. I shook myself out of my stupor and jumped into action; ignoring Sam, I helped Bucky. It turned out that it was only his mask that had caught fire, and he got it off quickly, but there were still scorch marks on his skin.

"Steve," he looked up at me in awe, his eyes wide in horror. "Steve, I - no, no . . ."

"Bucky, it's okay," I put my arm around him, helping him stand. "It's going to be all right." I heard Sam behind us, warning me to step away from him, but I ignored her again.

"Oh, God . . . Cap, I . . ." tears rolled down my partner's face. "I remember everything, I . . ."

"It'll be all right, we'll get you into S.H.I.E.L.D and they can help you recover, I'm sure they've got the technology-"

"All those people," Bucky groaned, the tears coming faster now. "All those innocent people that I've killed . . . over all those years . . . the time I've spent, working for the enemy . . ."

"Buck, it'll be okay. That wasn't you - that was the Winter Soldier. It's not your fault."

"You should've killed me, Cap."

"_What_?"

"You should've done what Natalia said and killed me!" he yelled. "All those lives I've ended! They were innocent!" he pounded his fists against my shield in anger. "You saw - you saw the way that girl attacked me, I'm a terrorist, I'm a killer and I work for the enemy-"

Sam stepped in front of us, looking confused; Bucky glared daggers at her.

"I can't take this!" he shoved away from me, shouting. "You should've killed me, Cap. I can't - I can't live with myself."

"Yes you can, Bucky, LISTEN TO ME!" I yelled. "You're stronger than this! You've made mistakes - we all have! Sometimes you need to leave your old life because you think it's not the one for you. And you leave behind everyone you love," my eyes cut to Sam, whose own eyes were filling with tears. "And sometimes it's not your choice. But it's not your fault, Bucky, and if you want to make the effort - we'll take you back. We can fix you up, and you can - you can right the wrongs you've committed."

He gaped at me like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out. "I - I have to go," he finally uttered, and without another word or glance, Bucky turned and bounded away.

"You're still my best friend!" I shouted after him, but he didn't turn around.

I shut my eyes, sighing in defeat. I guess . . . that was it. Bucky got his memory back. But at what cost? Did he just need some time on his own now . . . or would I never see him again?

There was a tiny sniffling noise to my left, and I mustered my courage, opening my eyes again and turning. Sam stood a few feet away, trying desperately to hold her tears back.

We regarded each other in silence, and I replaced my helmet-mask onto my face, never taking my eyes off her.

"Steve I'm sorry I never meant to hurt you or anyone so badly and I didn't realize what an effect it would have on you and I'm sorry and I hope you meant everything you said to Bucky because I'm assuming that was Bucky and I'm sorry I hit him but I hope you meant everything you said because I want to start over and I'm going to move back to New York because things weren't working out for me and I realized that in the future I don't want to go home every day to a bunch of archaeology work I want to go home to _you_ and I'm sorry I hurt you so badly and I'm sorry I didn't use my powers when the Soldier attacked in Rome but Daken put up a mental mind block and I couldn't use them but now I've broken through it and I'm sorry you took that bullet for me and you honestly shouldn't have but I'm sorry and I just want to be back with you and the other Avengers because I realized that with great power comes great responsibility and I haven't been very responsible but now I'm finally ready to take a stand and I know what I want and that's _you_ so really I'm not returning to fight I'm actually just returning for you Steve because love is what makes me a girl and love is something that girls die for you see it's like a curse and we put it first and holy shit I didn't mean to rhyme that and honestly I'm just a confused teenager and I thought I had no idea what I wanted in life but now I know and I was wrong about Rome because it's _you_ that I want and I hope you can forgive me but I'm sorry I'm so sorry and I'm done with Rome I'm going to come home and I wish-"

A small group of robots suddenly burst onto the path we were standing on, and now, I saw that they were aiming to kill - they had missiles stored in their armor, not unlike Tony, and lasers; one of them deployed a missile and it uprooted the trees behind me. Sam and I were knocked off our feet, both thrown backwards into a tree together.

Sam took a deep, shuddering breath, looking over to see my reaction. In response to her long, breathless rant, I gently took her hand, looking down at our entwined fingers.

"Sam, I . . . Will you fight with me? Like, stay by my side? No, wait. I mean . . . will you stay with me?"

She smiled softly, nodding once; and together, we turned to face the advancing army.

_Say you love me more_

_Than you did before_

_And I'm sorry it's this way_

_But I'm coming home_

_I'll be coming home_

_And if you ask me I will stay_

_I will stay_

_I will stay_

* * *

**Author's Note: Well, that was fun :3 and hello, everyone. The story's drawing to a close! Since there are only 25 chapters, there are now 2 chapters left. Next up: we'll discover just how Sam got to Central Park, why Ultron's army attacked now - and we'll be seeing that special "Human Spider" that Thor mentioned! ;)**

**Thanks so much to everyone for reading, and an extra thank you to the spectacular reviewers! How's everyone's month been so far? Mine has been incredibly stressful. Anyway, is anyone planning on dressing up for Halloween? I'd love to hear what you guys want to be!**

**Special thanks to the amazing reviewers, as always:_ Reviewer, Random Reviewer, Guest, roxxirox, ClarinetRox88, brandibuckeye, scott6130, Laurafxox, CeffylGwyn, cucumbersrockursocks, Lady Firewing, Tbonechick2011, Torilovesu, Shadow Realm Triforce, Hope's Survival, clarinetgirl628_ and_ erica . phoenix 16_! Welcome to all the new reviewers - I hope to hear from you again - and thanks for the wonderful feedback from the regulars :) it means the world to me to consistently hear from you!**

**Thanks for reading, everyone. Please leave a review for Steve - or Sam - or Bucky! Or all of them, it doesn't matter ;D READERS ASSEMBLE!**


	24. Very Hard to Stop

Sam Silverman's POV

_Love is like war; easy to begin but very hard to stop _

_- Henry Louis Mencken_

"You sure this is the place, Miss?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it. Just drop me off here."

"Look, I don't want to come off as a stick in the mud, but this place is off-limits to civilians."

"I'm aware of that," I sighed, forking over 60$ to the taxi driver. "Thanks for the ride."

"It's a dangerous neighborhood, especially for a woman by herself."

"I'll be fine," I rolled my eyes, scrambling out of the taxi. Yes, I knew the driver meant well. But I had made up my mind to return to Terra Street, and his warnings weren't going to stop me.

I ran a hand through my greasy hair, trying to remember the last time I'd had a shower as the taxi drove off. I hadn't slept in a while, either: ever since I left Rome, it'd just been go-go-go. I left New Mexico less than a day ago - and took a flight directly to the JFK airport in New York City. God, this place brought back memories. It had been my home for a while, and now . . . now, it seemed like a figment of my imagination.

But the ground beneath my feet was real enough, and the sight before me was just as solid: I was standing on Terra Street, looking at the same group of abandoned warehouses that the Mandarin had taken his hostages to, almost a year ago. I could still see the ruins of the one my earthquake had destroyed and I hid my luggage, complete with the Masquerade costume and all, behind a bush where it wouldn't get stolen. Not that anyone came here anyway.

I walked towards the destroyed warehouse, but was stopped by an odd noise from a neighboring building. It was a tinkering, metallic sound - as if the warehouses were being used. But the thing was, I knew for a fact they were all supposed to be empty.

I didn't knock on the front entrance door; instead, I went around to the side and went through a back entrance. A rickety brown metal staircase led up about two stories; I climbed it, and found myself on a landing in a hallway. The lighting in the hall was horrific; no electricity ran through the lightbulbs, and the only light filtered between the boards of the boarded-up windows.

"Well, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"

I nearly leapt out of my skin, cursing like a sailor as I whipped around to see who had spoken. There was no one behind me, though, and I tried to peer harder into the shadows of the hall.

"You know this is illegal trespassing. No one's allowed to be here."

The voice came from behind me again, so I whipped around once more - but still, no one appeared.

"Who's there?" I asked, my voice steady. I held my hands up in front of me, ready to react if something attacked.

"I'm just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

The voice came from behind again, and I turned on my heel to finally see who was talking to me. A costumed man stood on the landing, his face hidden by a mask. He was taller than me, but just as wiry and skinny, and he wore a full spandex body costume that was red and blue. The mask over his face had two mirrored eyelets for him to see out of, but there was no mouthpiece or anything. A spider emblem crossed his chest.

"What the hell are you supposed to be? What kind of a costume is that?" I asked, fear making me rude. I didn't lower my hands, and kept a weary, unblinking eye on him.

"Have you been living under a rock? I'm Spider-Man. Practically the only thing The Daily Bugle talks about nowadays," I heard him sigh. "New York City's newest superhero."

"But-" my voice faltered; I lowered my hands a fraction. "B-but New York has the Avengers."

"That's what everyone's been saying!" he threw his hands up. "There are other superheroes in this world too, you know. Ever heard of the X-Men? The Fantastic Four? I'm just unlucky enough to have to share the city with that team. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the Avengers - I'd do anything to meet them, let alone become one - but Tony Stark scares me too much to go and visit. I'm just a teenage geek - who wants me on the team of the best?"

He suddenly lashed out his hands, and webs shot out of his wrists. He aimed them at me so that I fell back against the wall, and my hands were stuck on either side of my head by the gooey, sticky webs. I couldn't move, which was probably the point.

Quickly - praying that he didn't notice - I transformed my hands into water. Since they were just liquid, they slipped right through the webbing, and I solidified them fast enough so that the costumed teen didn't realize what had happened . . . although my hands were now free.

He tilted his head to the side, confused, and shot his webs at me again. I did the same hand-water thing to escape once more. I didn't want him to realize I had powers, but I wasn't about to stand attached to the wall helplessly.

He tried one more time; I reacted one more time. Finally, the man - well, boy, actually - gave up.

"What're you doing here?" he tried a different tactic instead. "You're trespassing, and . . . why would you go so far out of your way to visit an abandoned warehouse?"

"I could be asking the same thing about you. How do I know you're not a villain?" I retorted.

"Um, hello? Do you not watch the news? Read the paper? I'm the city's newest addition to the superhero rooster, I told you."

"Sorry," I snapped. "I live in Italy. Didn't really pay attention to what was going on in New York City."

"Oh, Italy? Vous parlez la langue d'amour?"

"That's French, you dumbass," I couldn't help laughing a bit.

Without warning, he shot his webs at me again; this time, wrapping them around my body and pining my arms to my sides, rather than to the wall. I wouldn't be able to use my water power to get out of this one - so I leveled a glare at him.

"Why're you here?" he repeated his question.

I hung my head. "I came . . . for closure. I've made a lot of bad decisions in life, and this place is what kinda spurred them on. I just needed to see it. To remind myself life isn't as bad as it seems to be."

"Well look, I'll take you home. And don't worry, I won't drop you. I'll just break my webs so you can put your arms around my neck and hold on-" he reached out for me, but I skittered backward immediately, toppling over since I could barely move because of the webs around me.

"Don't touch me," I said from the floor, continuing to glare as I stared up at him awkwardly.

"Okay, okay, we'll take things slower," he held his hands up in surrender. "What's your name?"

". . . Samantha."

"Pretty name. I'm Spider-Man. I think it'd be a good idea if we left, it's a safety issue, see, so I'll unwrap you and you can just hold on to me and-"

"You're a smooth talker, aren't you?" I smirked. "'Put your arms around my neck.' 'Hold on to me.'"

"Okay, I'm terrible at talking to girls," he confessed. "The only reason I'm not stuttering in front of you is because of the mask," he shrugged. "Spider-Man's confident. My real self . . . kind of an awkward geek." He looked down. "But seriously, I was just going to go web-slinging through the city with you. Bring you back to your house, or whatever."

I frowned. "Why're you so damn eager on getting me out of here?"

Silence.

Fine, I thought. We'll do this the hard way.

I turned my whole body into water, melting out of the webs and potentially giving my identity as Masquerade away - at the very least, I was revealing I wasn't human. Let's just assume that it gave Spider-Man quite the shock - I couldn't tell, because of the face mask that was even more emotionless than Iron Man's. Once I re-solidified out of the webs, I turned and fled down the hall, not running from him so much as trying to find out what he was hiding. Something shot me in the ankle; I fell to the ground, my feet stuck to the floor by another web. DAMMIT. "Sorry," Spider-Man shrugged. "Didn't mean to make you fall. It's just that this building contains stuff for superhero-eyes only."

_Good thing I am a superhero_, I thought; I liquified my feet and picked myself up, trying to run again.

Spider-Man shot more webs out of his wrists, but I ducked in time to avoid them. He chased me down the hallway and tackled me to the floor, but I had momentum from the fall - I shoved him off and began crawling. I was almost at the door at the end of the hallway.

"No, we're going back to your house, now," he simply picked me up around the waist and started carrying me down the hall as I struggled against him. "I don't care how pretty you are, or how nice or smart you may be, you're not-"

I landed a good left hook on his jaw. Spider-Man let me go; I kicked him between the legs, and then lunged for the door.

And would you believe it? It was freaking locked. After all that.

Spider-Man picked me up around the waist again, throwing me over his shoulder so that my face was practically in his butt. I hammered my fists into his back, but he didn't seem to notice as his just walked back down the hallway.

"Let me GO, so help me, or I'll - I'll - I'll call Captain America! Or freaking Tony Stark!" He just snorted. "Really, I'm not kidding you!" He had almost reached the staircase. "I'll call Masquerade," I threatened, arching my back to try and look at the front of his face.

"She's been AWOL for a year. I wouldn't count on her coming to rescue you," he shook his head slightly.

I furrowed my brow. "What's AWOL mean?"

"Absent Without Official Leave."

"It's not official?"

"No, but you're talking to a major superhero nerd. I'm one of the few people in the city who realize she's gone."

I frowned. "Well, if you don't let me go, I really will call up Masquerade. And you don't want me to do that. She is not a happy camper."

"Let it go," Spider-Man sighed. "Just tell me where to drop you. You've got a car anywhere nearby? A doorstep I should leave you on? A mental asylum to return to?"

"Hey!" I smacked him on the back. "I'm not mental!"

"Could've fooled me."

"You're a jackass."

"You're crazy."

"You're a stupid, ugly butt."

"You're completely out of your mind."

"I think we could totally be best friends."

That stopped him, right at the top of the staircase. Slowly, he put me down. "You wanna try this again? How about you leave without having me manhandle you."

"No, I want to know why you won't let me see what's in the rest of this warehouse."

Spider-Man gripped the staircase railing. "Seriously, the 'stubborn' act is getting annoying."

"It's not an act," I spat back. "C'mon, Spider-Man. Maybe we can be partners in this. I'm the pretty girl, the damsel in distress, and you're the hero."

He shook his head.

I had the urge to throw something; stomp my foot, maybe. Yell and scream. Honestly, I would've been fine to just check this place out quickly - remind myself of my unravelling - and then go back to Stark Tower to find Steve. But Spider-Man and his protectiveness over the building spiked my curiosity in a dangerous way.

"Remind me again why you won't let me see anything?" I asked, tilting my head to the side and letting my long blonde hair fall over my shoulder.

"It's superhero business."

"And do the Avengers know about it?"

"I've been trying to get them to come down here to check it out, but Tony Stark never listens to me."

Huh. That sounded like a very "Tony" thing to do. Ignore the other super in town.

"So what is it you're hiding?"

"_I'm_ not the one hiding anything."

"Sure."

"Really!"

"Keep on telling yourself that."

". . . I'm not going to show you, to prove that I'm telling the truth."

"Fine, be a hater. That's okay," I said sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest.

"God, you're annoying," Spider-Man cracked his knuckles.

"Okay, well, fine. My car's outside. Goodbye," I said, turning on my heel. "Have fun trying to get Tony's attention."

He seemed shocked that my attitude had changed so quickly, but said nothing. By the time I reached the bottom of the staircase and looked back up, he was gone.

I exited the building, but then walked around to the front door and let myself in. It was unlocked, thank God, and I walked down another short hallway; opening another door, I stepped into a room.

Spider-Man greeted me.

"Did you really think you could sneak out that easily?" he said patronizingly. I sighed, annoyed. There was a staircase behind him, leading up to a control room for the factory. Television screens and a viewing window for the main area covered the walls up there. If I could just get into the control room . . .

I ducked just as Spider-Man lunged for me, and I bounded up the stairs behind him. He grabbed hold of the railing, swinging around and kicking me in the stomach. I doubled over, gasping for breath, but continued up the stairs as best as I could.

Spider-Man shot a web, tying my feet together; I crashed to the metal staircase, banging my chin. Using water, I freed my feet, but not before Spider-Man pounced on me, sitting on my back.

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to think. I could give it up now - go back to Steve and try to fix things right away. I missed Steve. I needed Steve. He was the whole reason I was here. Maybe I could come back with him - he could talk some sense into Spider-Man. I highly doubted this web-slinger would stop Captain America, the living legend, from entering this place. Then the three of us could work together, rather than me trying to keep my identity secret and fighting Spider-Man the whole way.

But this was something I wanted to do myself. To show that I really could work on my own - as a _hero_.

Using all my strength, I rolled over; Spider-Man bounced off my back. As quickly as I could, I crawled up the last few steps; I had to kick Spider-Man in the face to push him down at one point, but I managed. I collapsed on the floor of the control room at the same time as Spider-Man came to stand in the doorway.

I kicked him in the shin; he fell to one knee, as I scrambled to my feet. Spider-Man blocked my punch to his head; he responded by standing up, and with his own hit to my stomach. I fell backwards, into one of the control panels; I kicked Spider-Man in the torso as he lunged for me, sending him flying back into another panel. He may have had a speed and strength advantage over me, but I had been trained by the best - Cap.

Things started to beep and whir all around us, but I ignored it as I jumped on Spider-Man. He tried to shoot his webs into my eyes, but I squeezed his wrists as tightly as I could, the blood running out of them. He shifted over, throwing me onto a control panel as my body hit numerous buttons; Spider-Man leapt up, literally _up_, so that he was actually standing on the ceiling, looking down at me. Lights flashed and buttons beeped; it was then that I looked out the bay window, into the main factory room.

"This isn't . . . This isn't something you can deal with on your own," I gasped. "This is an army, Spider-Man. You need the Avengers, now. This . . . this is a full-scale threat."

Before us stood rows and rows and rows of shining silver robots, all equipped and ready for war. They resembled the robot that Tasha was always talking about - Ultron. Maybe . . . maybe Ultron was building an army.

"Yeah, see, you're a civilian. You're not supposed to see these kind of threats," he jumped down from the ceiling and grabbed the back of my head, holding my face against the control panel so that I couldn't move. The lights blinded me, but soon, the beeping noises began to make sense.

"Shit, Spider-Man, when we hit all these control panels . . . we turned the robots on."

He loosened his grip on me, so I shot up to look him in the spider-eyes. "We activated the goddamn army."

He got straight to work, flipping buttons and switches and trying to right our wrongs. I watched in terror as all the robots in the building moved, preparing themselves. They made the same actions at the same time, as if, for now, there was just one big brain controlling them all.

"I can't shut them down," Spider-Man's panicked voice sounded. "_This_ is why I wanted Tony Stark here. The Avengers could deal with a problem like this. And _this_ is why I didn't want random civilians walking in here - look what's happened!"

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, and called Tony. JARVIS picked up. After a short conversation with the AI, I found out two reasons why Tony wouldn't pick up the phone: one, because he was mad at me for the Soldier attack in Rome, and two, because he was in a meeting with the other Avengers.

It made me sad to think I wasn't a part of that meeting.

"The robots are set to attack the city," Spider-Man sounded stressed. "There's - there's no way to stop them," he banged the heel of his hand against his forehead. "I need to get you out of here."

"Can't you change where they're attacking?" I asked. "The computer's set for Manhattan in general," I pointed at a computer screen. "See if you can re-program it for somewhere smaller. Somewhere that the damage of their attack will be less."

"Like where?!"

". . . Central Park," I decided, and Spider-Man locked in the information. It worked, thank God. "The clean-up there will be less costly than if it was the city they attacked, like the Chitauri."

"Alright, I'll send out a call to the Avengers and the police," he said, getting up as the robots began to leave the factory, in search of their destination. "We'll try and stop them in the streets, before they make any violent moves. Primarily, though, I'm returning you to your home. It's not safe here."

"Bring me to Central Park."

"Uh, no."

"Uh, yeah!"

"That's where the army's going!" he threw up his hands.

"That's the point!" I mimicked him.

Spider-Man shook his head angrily, and began clomping down the staircase.

"Hey, but seriously, you wanna give me a ride to the park?" I poked my head out of the room to stare him down. "I'm not kidding."

"And why the hell would I do that?" asked Spider-Man.

"C'mon, dude. You need all the superhero help you can get, facing this army. And I think it's time I staged my return."

He looked at me. I wish I could describe the expression on his face, but honestly - that mask hid it all.

I frowned. "Hel-lo? Don't you recognize me? I'm the one and only Masquerade, the Masked Marvel! Menace from Venice! Seriously, long blonde hair - that fancy water power I used to escape your webs - martial arts skills . . ."

"Can I have your autograph?"

Oh dear God.

"Only if we go kick some serious butt first."

* * *

I'm going to summarize the next bit.

Retrieved my luggage. Got changed behind a bush while Spider-Man fangirled. Found it incredibly weird to be back in costume. Like, insanely so. You have no idea.

Spider-Man and I ran down Terra Street, into Manhattan. He picked me up. Starting using his webs to swing through the buildings like Tarzan. I practically shit myself from fear. Clung to him so tightly that he lost circulation. I'm telling you, that stuff was terrifying.

Spider-Man put me down at Central Park. Robots had not yet arrived. Called Nick Fucking Fury. He actually _answered_. Told him about the situation. He hung up on me, presumably to call the Avengers. Robots arrived. Spider-Man swung off to evacuate civilians and help police. And I stood around, feeling completely lost and out of practice.

Until the Avengers showed up.

I remember watching Tony - a gold and red streak through the sky - flying above the park. Find Tony, I find Steve. It was that simple.

_Getting_ to Tony wasn't, though.

Do you know how many robots I had to destroy on my crusade to find the billionaire? More than I care to count. It was tiresome, relentless work - they just kept coming and coming, and they didn't weaken like normal enemies. Even without heads, they could keep fighting.

And my powers - I finally got to use them. _Finally_. For good this time, of course. But the sheer pleasure of lighting stuff on fire - of controlling the wind, or sending a mini earthquake through the park - brought a smile to my face. It made me feel a bit sadistic, but at least I wasn't killing actual people or something. All these things were made of was metal and gears and wires.

But they were still killing machines - literally. It wasn't a skirmish. It wasn't a super-villain with a half formed plan. It wasn't even a war - but it _was_ a battle. And I had to fight it like a soldier - like the superhero I'd been denying I was. Because finally, _finally_, I could accept the truth: I wasn't a villain. Not even an anti-hero. I _was_ a hero. I just needed to live up to the title.

I got into the fight. I killed as many robots, as fast as I could. There were times that I could see nothing but robots. I didn't know if any civilians - any Avengers - were even alive anymore. Sometimes I feared that I was the only one still breathing. But I was standing my ground, and I was finally fighting because _I_ wanted to, not because someone else was making me. The power that one thought gave me was immeasurable.

And say what you will about me. I enjoyed it.

In those moments, all the garbage that had been running through my head for the past year . . . everything I was worried about, or stressed over, was gone. Nothing mattered. Not Tony's anger with me. Not my mess of a life in Rome. Not Spider-Man, my new ally. Not the Avengers. Not even Steve.

Literally nothing mattered but the fight.

_This_ fight.

It was what I'd needed since the beginning, even though I hadn't realized it.

But it didn't last long. All too soon in my killing-robot tirade - before I was entirely finished with my mental monologue - I ran into Iron Man.

"Tony! Where's Steve?" I shouted. Yeah, great comeback line - I know. Don't remind me.

"What the hell? Who's there?" he asked, fighting off a small legion of robots.

"WHERE'S STEVE?" I shouted, fending off a few of my own electronic attackers. Even though the fight had cleared my head - even though the only thing that mattered was the battle - finding Steve was still my number-one priority. He was the reason I was there, after all. "Three o'clock, Tony," I cried; he turned and destroyed another few robots before I shouted out again: "Behind you!" Tony fell to the ground as a robot knocked him down, and I lit it on fire as he turned to face me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Well, thanks for the warm welcome.

"Saving your ass, apparently," I snapped. "That robot would've taken your head clean off if I hadn't . . ."

"Set it on fire," he said, puzzled. "You - you got your powers back?"

"It was just a mental block. I had some friends help me through it," I grimaced. "Ten feet behind you, Tony." He turned quickly and blasted three robots with his unibeam.

"And how the hell did you get to Central Park? I thought you were in Rome?"

"It's a long story," I ran a hand through my greasy hair. "But - I'm here to make things right. Are we cool? I'm sorry about the incident with the Winter Soldier . . ."

"We can talk later," he yelled over the sound of me being awesome. Well, technically it was the sound of me lighting a robot on fire - but same difference. "But for now - sure. Truce. We'll need another ally in this fight."

"Where's Steve? I need to talk to him. It's an emergency."

"Well, yeah, we're kind of in the middle of an emergency right now . . ."

I glared. "I'm going to move back to New York City, Tony." I tried to convince him through my gaze that I was dead serious. "Now where is he?"

I hit a robot in the face with my fist as Tony spoke into an Avengers communication earpiece. "Steve, there's a school bus filled with orphaned babies and puppies near Belvedere Castle, in the park," he said. "They're in need of your assistance." There was a pause, and then he turned back to me, saying "He's near Belvedere Castle."

I stared at him open-mouthed. "Is there really a school bus filled with-"

"No, but he's gullible enough to want to save anything."

"Thanks, Tony," I smiled.

"As much as it pains me to admit it," he teased, "it's good to have you back." I nodded and turned to run, but he put a hand on my shoulder to stop me. "Oh, and Sam?

". . . Good luck. We've missed you."

"Missed you too," I smiled, running off.

It took me a while to get near my destination - there was a lot of metallic junk in my way. And I saved as many human lives as possible in the process. I didn't stress; I didn't worry; I didn't second-guess myself. I didn't even ponder as to the motives of the army, or why they were built in the first place, or by whom. I just did what soldiers do, what other heroes do - what I know deep down inside I was supposed to do.

I enjoyed the fight.

When I found Steve, he was locked in combat with the Winter Soldier, his number-one foe at the moment, I guess. It hurt me to see Steve - to be reminded of everything we'd been through - but the hurt was nowhere near the joy I felt at seeing him alive and fighting as I raced closer.

Captain America made fighting - made hero-ing - look easy. Even though it never was. And he never stopped fighting for what he believed in. That's the thing about Cap. Everyone says he represents America. But to me?

He represents freedom.

Watching him move, seeing him in action . . . it was a revelation. I knew I could never be as good as him: no one could. Only Cap could be that graceful under pressure; that strong in the face of absolute horror.

And I knew then what Peggy had seen all those years before - why she had fallen for him. Because even though he was a soldier, you could almost feel the kindness behind those eyes, hardened by war. He'd fought through the worst days of the 20th century and he was still the most decent man you could ever meet. Despite all our time apart, I loved Steve. Even though I knew there'd be pain and tears to come - even though a lot of hurt had already threaded its way through our relationship.

But it was always worth it.

Cap was on his knees, hands up in surrender, as the Winter Soldier pointed a gun directly at his head. This was it - this was my only chance. Otherwise Cap would have his head blasted open . . . and I'd never get my chance to apologize.

I bodychecked the Winter Soldier, knocking him off his feet. We went skidding across the ground, and I pinned him down, sitting on his chest as I smacked him across the face multiple times.

"You asshole!" I shouted angrily. "You tried - you tried to shoot Cap, and I swear to god," I hit him again, "if you had hurt him, I would have made your life a fucking hell on earth, you goddamn-"

He threw me completely off him, stood up, and kicked me. GOD, this guy was strong. Fighting him hurt. It hurt to punch him. It hurt to _be_ punched by him. I screamed as he grabbed me by the hair and punched me in the face with his robotic arm; I collapsed, but I wasn't done.

"You tried to hurt Steve-" I raised my hands to face the Soldier.

"I'm his FRIEND, you insolent girl!"

"Friend, my ass!"

I set his mask on fire and he ran around like a headless chicken - but to my complete and utter surprise, Cap jumped forward to help him.

"Steve," the Winter Soldier looked up in awe, his eyes wide in horror. "Steve, I - no, no . . ."

"Bucky, it's okay," Cap said, and I swear his voice made my stomach churn. Wait - _Bucky?!_

A long conversation ensued that I was reluctant witness to, and from what I could piece together - the Winter Soldier really was Bucky, Cap's old friend from the war.

"You're stronger than this!" Steve yelled after a lot of back-and-forth. "You've made mistakes - we all have! Sometimes you need to leave your old life because you think it's not the one for you. And you leave behind everyone you love." My eyes filled with tears as I realized Bucky wasn't the only person he was talking to. "And sometimes it's not your choice. But it's not your fault, Bucky, and if you want to make the effort - we'll take you back. We can fix you up, and you can - you can right the wrongs you've committed." A tear leaked out of my eye as Bucky turned and ran off, seemingly overwhelmed.

Embarrassingly enough I sniffled, trying to keep the tears in. Cap took a deep breath, and finally turned to face me.

Annnnnnnd this is where I launched into that long speech where I didn't take a single breath. I'm not going to repeat it - Steve already wrote it down in the journal. But I apologized - and he forgave me. I admitted that I had learned two things in Rome: one, that even though people may have told me our relationship "wasn't worth the struggle, the hurt, or the trouble," - I was going to fight for him, because it _was_. It _was_ worth it. And two: I needed the Avengers more than I realized. They were my family, just like they're were Steve's. We were both the misfits; the ones with barely anything else left.

A group of robots interrupted my speech (THOSE GODDAMN BASTARDS RUIN EVERYTHING), and a missile was deployed in our direction; we were thrown off our feet by the force of the explosion, but somehow landed beside each other.

In his typical awkward way, Steve said, "Sam, I . . . Will you fight with me? Like, stay by my side? No, wait. I mean . . . will you stay with me?"

I smiled. Just like the Miley Cyrus song.

He led the attack on the advancing, lethal robots, and we spared not a single one. Everything I saw got shot with flame. And what I didn't shoot, I punched. I punched until my knuckles hurt – and then I hit a little harder.

And for the first time in forever, I knew how to be a true warrior.

I was so happy I could cry.

The robots were tough, but not so tough that we couldn't beat them. It took a lot of energy. A lot of power. But in the end, we won. Even though these robots were made to fight, they weren't warriors.

And they sure as hell weren't going to kick _my_ ass.

With Cap by my side, I felt less like I was the only person in Manhattan standing against the army. In the distance, I could hear explosions and gunfire and screams. I never heard the sounds of the city reacting. All I heard was the park – and the innocent people in it – being attacked. Beaten. I was getting tired, but I sure as hell was going to save this damn park before I fell over. Central Park was the location of my first date with Steve – and I wanted, I _needed _to preserve that. If I could breathe, I could fight. _You are _not_ going to kill me. I _will not _die today._

But all too soon, I lost Cap. No matter where I looked through the carnage and the sparking robotic parts, he was gone. Not hurt – I didn't believe that, although I had noticed the knife wound in his leg, and his gunshot wound probably ached. Just gone. We'd been separated, and with good reason – it was insane and chaotic in the park. Far away, I could see trees burning down in a forest fire that was quickly approaching my location. But I was always moving; running through the park, saving people stuck in it or smacking around the robots destroying it-

"_WHO SHOOTS HULK_?!"

A roar echoed through the Park as the incredible Hulk came smashing through a grove of trees, robots clutched in his hands as they attempted to put him down with their heavy artillery fire. I have to admit, I think it was the first time I had ever heard the Hulk talk. But as he came barreling towards me, completely intent on clobbering every humanoid shape in his path, I came to wonder if he was just a mindless monster – or if the timid doctor was still in there.

"HEY BANNER!" I shouted up, diving out of the way as his foot came smashing down right where I had been standing. The Hulk stopped and swiveled around, looking for me. "Down here!"

He bent down, peering into my face with his beady eyes and breathing hard. I grimaced, trying to ignore the stench of his breath. "Uh . . . Bruce? You in there? Or is it the Hulk killing the robots?"

He snorted. "Banner talk monsters to death. Hulk SMASH!"

The Hulk turned and swept a slew of robots off their feet, and they went flying all over the place. I jumped up and grabbed the low-hanging branch of a tree; I swung myself and launched into the middle of a pod of our enemies, blasting them all with flame and wind. The Hulk crushed those that I missed.

"Hey Hulkie, pick me up for a second, will ya?" I asked, and to my surprise he actually did so. It wasn't too gentle – I was squeezed like a lemon in his fist – but I needed my feet off the ground as I sent an earthquake through the clearing, strong enough to destroy everything in it – except the Hulk. He leapt out, jumping away with those muscles-on-his-muscles legs of his.

We crash-landed on a tree; he let me go, and I tumbled down a few branches but managed to cling on to one with my legs. From my new vantage point, I could see that almost a third of the park was on fire: helicopters flew overhead with water buckets and in the distance, firetruck sirens whooped, but the trees were blazing to the ground.

I frowned, puzzling it out in my head. "Hey, Banner! HULK!" I shouted, and the great green monster peered down at me again, through the branches of the trees.

"Get us to the Central Park Lake, will you? Please?" I forced a weak smile.

"Hulk help Masquerade!" he cried, smashing his hand through the tree branches again and dislodging me from my perch. I screamed and fell to the ground, landing almost directly on Spider-Man, who was helping a large group of tourists through the park.

He helped me up without even flinching at my sudden appearance, but we had barely a second to glance at each other: Hulk crashed to the ground, picking me up in his fist like King Kong, and bounded off.

We got to the lake in no time at all, startling a large group of ducks as Hulk splashed into the large body of water. I was thrown very nearly to the bottom of the lake; it took more energy that I'm willing to admit to swim back up, soaking wet and gasping for air. Hulk looked at me quizzically, as if he didn't understand what was going on.

"Grab the-" I gasped for breath, my chest heaving as I removed the wet hair sticking to my face. "Boats! Grab the boats. Fill them with – with water. And douse the flames, Hulk. I'm gonna-" but he bounded off to do as I said before I could finish. It worked, too: he was strong enough to pick up the water-filled canoes and rowboats, and bounded away to dump the water on the burning trees, helping out the fire crews.

I swam over to the bank so I could get my footing and shut my eyes, trying to concentrate. _C'mon, Sam. Just a little water manipulation, that's all. You can move wind and earth – can't you move water?_ I wanted to _control _the lake. I wanted it to help Hulk put out the flames. But no matter how hard I screwed up my face, how hard I concentrated, nothing happened-

Something bodychecked me from behind, sending my flying forwards into the Lake again. I let out an involuntary scream, swallowing a lungful of water as I was picked up by two huge arms and crushed against someone's chest.

"My dearest Lady Samantha! What an honor it is to see you again, fighting as a warrior alongside me and my brothers!"

Oh dear God. Thor had found me.

"Put – me – down!" I struggled, coughing and hacking as lakewater dribbled out between my lips. Thor released me, beaming down with a large smile on his face.

"I was in the present area, helping the quacks when-"

Hulk came bounding back to fill the boats up again, and I took advantage of the momentary distraction to get to shore, away from the goddamn lake. Thor trailed behind me, watching me as I wrung out my hair and shook the water from my costume.

"I don't get it, Thor," I said, grateful for the break from fighting. "You're a badass warrior. You kill things and you start wars. And then you get to earth, and you spend all your time taking care of ducklings!"

He frowned, contemplating something. "I will admit to you my biggest secret, Lady Samantha," he said in a low voice; I raised my eyebrows. "I was arrogant. I was selfish. And I was more rude than the Man of Iron. But I learned my lesson."

". . . So?"

"So I was taught to keep my rage inside. I could no longer be the bloodythirsty, head-smashing being I was. And still am."

I tilted my head to the side.

"I channel all my energy into other things now, Lady Samantha. After dealing with Loki and the Ice-Holes-"

"Ice-Holes?"

"They're like retarded snowmen."

I bit my lip, still not comprehending.

Thor sighed, as if tired of explaining already. "The Bi-Frost, Lady. Loki is one of them. Anyway – after years and years spent fighting them, and after fighting the Chitauri, I have learned my lesson. Midgard does not want me to go around smashing faces. So I channel _that _energy," he swung his hammer around lazily, "into caring for Midgardian animals. But the secret is – on the inside, I am still the same arrogant Thor." The warrior grinned.

"So really, you're still a killer."

"That is a harsh word, Lady."

"The duckling thing is just an act?"

"It is my personal game of pretend with myself," he replied in his normal loud, booming voice that I now realized seemed to hide a layer of anger.

Hulk came leaping back to fill another boat; Thor and I retreated deeper into the park together. Something suddenly shot at me, burning the fabric on the side of my stomach; it also ripped holes in my thigh, melting the cloth away and leaving bare skin there. A legion of robots stepped out from the trees, lasers and guns ready.

"What the hell, man? You just ruined my costume." I turned to Thor. "I think it's time for you to put those killing abilities to good use."

He grinned, and threw his hammer.

As I fought alongside Thor, I could feel the tired in my bones. How long had this battle been going on? A couple hours? Days? It felt like seconds. It felt _good_.

The world had gone insane. And I was going to help fix it.

I punched a robot in the face as Thor hammered through three of them, all at the same time. "You tiny minions! You are no match!" he cried, sending a bolt of lightning down from the sky, through his hammer, and then right at a robot. Its lights became brighter; its sensors went on overload. But the robot only became more powerful with all the amplified electricity.

"Thor, stop electrifying them! It only makes them more powerful, unless you use higher voltage to fry them," I grunted, elbowing a robot in the face as it snuck up behind me and I kicked another one in the chest. I whirled around and blasted three more with wind; one shot a missile towards my head and I transformed to water, disappearing as the missile went right through me. I solidified momentarily, only to set the robot's inner organs on fire. "Just stick to hammering them with, uh, Muh-jol-ner. Me-jol-nire. Em-jay-ol-ner. Me-oll-nire. Um – Meowmeow!"

"It is Mjolnir!" he said, pronouncing it like "Myol-nur."

"Riiiiight. I'm sticking with Meowmeow." The hammer crashed through a tree and knocked over the robot behind it.

I knocked a robot off its feet with wind, but it shot at me from the ground; a bullet nipped my torso where the costume had been torn away, but I didn't feel it because of the adrenaline running through me. I lit the robot's head and its circuitboard on the inside on fire, but didn't pay attention to my surroundings: another robot came up behind me and wrapped its hands around my neck.

That's the scary thing about robots. Their strength never wavers. Maybe a human wouldn't be able to crush my windpipe as easily, because a human would meet the resistance of my body. But the robot: it just kept squeezing. It didn't intend on strangling me. It intended on crushing my neck.

"Incoming!" someone shouted, and Spider-Man came flying down from the trees, landing on, well, me. We fell to the ground with the robot still attached to my neck as my vision started to go dark around the edges. Spider-Man's repearrance wasn't a moment too soon, though; he took care of the robot quickly, ripping a hole straight through its chest, and it shorted out.

He stood, holding out a hand to help me up, which I took gratefully. "Good to see you again," I said, affording a smile. Spider-Man nodded.

"Just trying to help. Maybe you Avengers will finally realize I'm not half bad at the hero business."

"We'll see," I winked, signaling to Thor that he wasn't allowed to smash Spider-Man's head in.

The three of us continued on our warpath, kicking metallic robot ass. From what I could tell, the fight was dying down. We had pretty much destroyed half the park – but more than half of the army. I ripped a robot's head off its neck as Spider-Man shot webs around another, pinning it to the ground; Thor raged, hammering everything with Meowmeow.

"A little help!" I cried, as a robot came at me with a missile. Thor picked me up, one hand clutching the back of my neck and the other bunching up the fabric on the small of my back, swinging me feet-first at the threat. I thudded into its chest with both feet, and Thor let me go so I could rip the mini-missile away and dispose of the attacker.

I smiled at the robots left surrounding us, who were suddenly looking reluctant to attack. "Look alive, fellas! I killed your buddy, and now I want to know . . . Who's next?"

Spider-Man helped Thor and I polish them off quickly, but as soon as we were done, the web-slinger ran off. "Can't stick around long, Masquerade," he explained. "The police force and the Avengers aren't exactly my number-one fans. I don't want to be around when they show up."

I saluted him. "It's been nice working with you, kid. Some other time?"

He nodded, and was gone.

I sat down heavily on the ground, breathing hard and trying to wipe the blood out of a small cut on my head. Thor rubbed at his ear, a puzzled expression on his face. I looked up quizzically, and he pulled the Bluetooth comm out of his ear.

"Can I listen in?" I asked, and he handed it to me; I attached it to my head.

A voice crackled over the line. "The explosively pumped flux compression generator is ready to go," Hank Pym was saying. "Tony, you need to get out of here."

"What's that?" I asked. There was silence, and then _"Sam?!"_ It was Natasha.

I forced a chuckle. "I'm back, whether you like it or not."

There was a squeal, obviously from Janet.

Hank interrupted, his voice slightly annoyed. "It's a machine that'll shut down every electronic in Central Park – or at least, within the vicinity of which I place it. All the robots will short-circuit and die out, but so will any other electronic machines in the area. Including Tony's arc reactor."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going, I'm going," Tony grumbled, and I watched as he zoomed away overheard, off towards Stark Tower.

"Masquerade!" Thor cried, as another wave of robots crashed towards us.

"Do it, Hank!" I said into the comm. "What've we got to lose?"

There was a long moment of silence. Had it not worked? No one was saying anything over the comm; no one was affirming that everything was going all right. "Hank? Natasha? Anyone?" I asked, but I was met with silence.

Then the robots in front of me all dropped to the ground at the same time, their lights going out. Something on my utility belt beeped, and then died; something else sent a tiny shock through me, and I grimaced.

Wait – now I knew why no one was responding over the comm. It was electronic – and so it was dead, just like everything else. Hank's machine had worked! I turned to Thor and smiled.

That was it. The battle was over.

Now, my next order of business. Since the fight was no longer here, distracting me – I needed to fully deal with the real reason I had returned. _Steve._ I needed to find Steve. Steve Steve Steve Cap Steve Steve -

God, I couldn't believe I had finally seen him again. I missed him more than anyone. He was my perfect super soldier and I needed him, I needed him to be okay, I needed him to forgive me.

I ran through the park, trying to find him. Last we had seen each other, he had been on the east side. Now please, just let him be there now . . .

I saw the crowd of people first; a crowd filled with police and S.H.I.E.L.D agents and civilians, just outside of the park. They were huddled together, trying to recover from the after-effects and recuperate. At the front of the crowd stood Steve, trying to do damage control with Tony at his side - he must've returned to help out S.H.I.E.L.D.

"Cap!" I shouted over the din, pushing past a family and through a group of adults. Their cries of anger turned to surprise as they saw it was me - well, Masquerade - trying desperately to get over to where Iron Man and Captain America were standing.

I got stuck behind a tightly-knit line of people, and anguish threatened to take over. I needed to get to Steve RIGHT NOW. "Cap!" I screamed, my voice hoarse as I tried to get his attention. The people around me looked up, startled. They all probably wondered why I was so anxious to get to him, and I didn't blame them.

Someone moved, and I slipped through the line, continuing to run towards Steve as quickly as I could. He still hadn't seen or heard me, and I tripped over someone; stumbling to the ground, I had barely even scraped my knees before I was up and running again.

"Cap!" I yelled once more, and finally, Steve turned around to spot me running towards him, pushing through people desperately. He took two big steps towards me, and I ran straight into his arms, not even worried about my momentum knocking him over. But to my surprise, rather than just holding on to me like I thought he would, Steve kissed me.

I stood still as a statue for a moment, before I realized what was happening. Someone wolf-whistled, and there were a few whoops as I closed my eyes and put a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer to me. Steve responded enthusiastically, wrapping an arm around me to hold me tighter and entangling his other hand in my blonde hair. I held the side of his face with the hand that wasn't on his neck, still finding it hard to believe that I was finally back with him. _Finally_.

Someone began clapping, and then another someone, and another. Soon the crowd of people - civilians and policemen and agents and all - were clapping and cheering, every pair of eyes on us. I pulled away for a second, blushing as I looked out across the sea of faces, smiling back at me. One old man gave me a thumbs up, and I barely had enough time to blush even deeper as Steve pulled me back to him.

God, he was a good kisser. Steve's lips were so warm on mine, and it felt so right; he moved softly, but passionately, and after a moment I opened my mouth to match his. Another person wolf-whistled; our "audience" must've realized we had, well, we had moved on to using tongue. God, I never wanted it to end.

But it did, and Tony broke us apart, reminding us that there was still work to be done. We had to clear up the mess in the park, after all; the Avengers had to deal with the press, address the city, round up the other Avengers, and most importantly - I needed to have a long chat with everyone about where I was going to go from there, and what had happened in the past year of my life.

But first . . . shawarma!

* * *

**Author's Note: Bonjour, tout le monde :) how's it going? Here was the climax of the story; the last part of the battle - only one chapter left, and then the sequel (yes, there will be a sequel) which is titled "Silver Flames"!**

**Thanks to all the lovely people who read and reviewed last chapter; it means the world to me. And thanks for telling me about your Halloween costumes, ahaha xD **

**Special thanks to those extra-amazing people who reviewed (and welcome to the new guys! FRESH BLOOD MWAHAHAHA-): _beba78, cucumbersrockursocks, brandibuckeye, LunaTheLoneWolf, Shadown Realm Triforce, erica . phoenix 16, ClarinetRox88, Lady Firewing, clarinetgirl628, GoForTehGig, CeffylGwyn,_ and_ Hope's Survival_! Thank you all so much for the kind words; I appreciate it more than I could ever tell you.**

**Thanks again to everyone - and please review, letting me know what you thought! As always . . . **

**READERS ASSEMBLE!**


	25. Love is a Growing Up

Tony Stark's POV

_Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up._

_- James A. Baldwin_

"You. You are in a _lot_ of trouble."

I stomped into the room as Sam looked up at me, startled. She was in the living room with Janet, Natasha and Pepper, sitting in front of the fireplace; she held out her hand and lit the logs in it on fire. Pepper stoked it, ignoring me and instead nudging Sam with her shoulder.

"Gimme a moment, Tony," Sam said, turning away as I stood there, fuming. "I - I have to burn this."

She held up a brown journal, flipping through it one last time. The pages were covered in handwriting that I recognized as Sam's; she looked back at me, smiling sadly. "This is the journal I kept while I was in Rome." And with that, she turned at threw it into the fire, watching it go up in flames.

Janet put her arms around Sam, hugging her tightly from the side. "'No one even knows how hard life was; I don't even think about it now because, I finally found you.'"

"What's that?" Natasha asked, her stare transfixed on the burning book.

"Lyrics from a Lana Del Rey song," Janet chirped. "I thought it fit the moment."

I cleared my throat; Pepper sighed and turned back to look at me. "Look, Tony, we're too busy for a selfish rant. Burning Sam's journal is our way of helping her say goodbye to all the bad stuff that happened in Rome." Sam clung tighter to Janet. "She just needs some girl time, okay?"

"How did you even get here?" I scrunched up my nose.

Pepper frowned. "I flew in after the attack yesterday. Decided you might need some of my assistant skills to get through the coming weeks."

"Oh," I said, deciding not to admit that she was probably right.

Sam suddenly let out a tiny little scream and lunged out of Janet's arms, towards something just behind Natasha. She sat back with her cat Trooper - which had unfortunately been living at my place for the past while - nestled in her arms.

"Hello, my pretty little kitty! Look how big and fluffy you are! Mommy's so sorry she left, but I love you so much, and you're so _cute_, my fuzzy little fluffball of love, aren't you just the _cutest_ little kitty-cat to ever exist, my little bum, I'm sorry I left but I'm back now and Mommy loves you and I missed you, did you miss me?"

A while ago, Steve had adopted Sam's cat when it looked like the poor animal had to be put up for cat-adoption. Thor had been taking care of the cat ever since, although even he had never gone all insane on it like Sam was now doing.

"There's an Avengers meeting in the dining room," I sighed angrily, pointing. Natasha and Janet got up and hurried off; Pepper took the cat from Sam and promised to take care of it while Sam was included in the meeting. I smiled tightly and gave Pepper a kiss on the cheek, trailing after Sam. All the other Avengers were already in the room, seated around the big dining-room table; Sam took the empty seat beside Steve, who couldn't hide the smile on his face when he looked at her.

"Okay, so," I started over. "You two are in a _lot_ of trouble." Sam and Steve both looked up at me, looking worried and confused - it was them that I was talking to.

"_Look_ at this," I held The Daily Bugle up and shook it in front of their faces. "LOOK."

"Tony, we can't see it if you keep shaking it like that," Sam snapped, grabbing my hand and trying to calm me down. I ripped my hand away, and threw the newspaper in her face. Pages flew everywhere, and Steve scrambled to pick them up.

"You two," I scrunched up my nose, "made FRONT PAGE. Your stupid kiss made the front freaking page of every newspaper around!" I threw up my hands. "It should've been me on that front page, should've been Iron Man saving the world's ass once again, not two dumbasses making out-"

Sam burst out laughing, and I leveled a glare at her. She ignored me.

Steve gently took the paper from her, laying it out so everyone could see. On the front page of The Daily Bugle was a grainy cell-phone shot of Cap and Masquerade, kissing right after the battle and once they had been reunited.

"Someone recorded the whole damn thing," I crossed my arms over my chest, "on their iPhone, and the video's gone viral. It's already got over 14 million views - in just one night."

The battle in Central Park had been just yesterday, and we had barely gotten a second to rest since - even though we had planned to get shawarma, that had fallen through and we hadn't yet had it for various reasons. Firstly, we had to help the fire department put out the fire in Central Park. Then, the clean-up crews of the park required our assistance. Afterwards, the hospital got their hands on us - treated everyone for injuries and bruises and the like. Finally, Fury had dragged us all on board the Helicarrier for debriefing. We hadn't seen each other since then - everyone had returned to Stark Tower after their personal interviews and crashed, sleeping in bathtubs (Clint) or wherever there was a horizontal surface. Now, we had finally called our official Avengers Assemble meeting. But I was too busy ranting about the damn newspaper to get started.

"What's on the videotape?" Bruce Banner asked meekly, wiping his face with a hand cloth.

I sighed. "Hey JARVIS, project that vid of Cap and Masquerade onto the wall, will you? The one on YouTube?"

"Yes, sir," JARVIS responded automatically, and the blank wall in the room suddenly came to life with a YouTube video.

The video was crappy quality - taken from an iPhone - but it showed the scenario well enough. Cap and Iron Man were standing in the middle of a crowd of civilians, talking things over. Suddenly, Masquerade burst into the clearing, and then in the blink of an eye, she was in Cap's arms and they were making out. The video zoomed in on their embrace as bystanders began clapping and whistling; Sam pulled away, blushing, and looked at the crowd. But Cap put his lips back on hers, and they continued to kiss until I broke them up.

The video shut off, and everyone turned to stare at Steve and Sam. Steve had an incredibly awkward expression on his face, as if he was a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And Sam's entire face had turned tomato-red, except for the puckered scar near her hairline, which turned white; she had sunk so low in her chair that I could barely see her face.

"Ahem," I coughed. "AS I WAS SAYING, you two idiots," I sat down in my chair and kicked them underneath the table, "made the front page. It should've been _me_ on that page-"

"Are you jealous?" Sam started laughing again, pushing herself back up in her seat.

I forced a smile. "There was a WAR going on, Sammy, and the newspaper put you two on the front, rather than the fact half of Central Park burned down and a bunch of robots tried to take over! Now, what's up with that?"

"Maybe the public's getting tired of bad news all the time. They wanted something . . . happier, for once," Natasha cut in. "A little bit of light - of hope - to focus on."

Janet, who was sitting beside Sam, pulled the newspaper over to her. "Don't be ridiculous, Tony," she chided. "They have many articles about the battle," she flipped through the paper. "Look, here's Iron Man's picture, he's on page 3-"

I tried to grab the paper back, but Janet held on, leveling a glare. She pulled it back towards her, and folding it back up, she began to read aloud the front-page article, which was titled LOVE DURING A WAR:

_Word travels fast in New York City. You didn't have to be there to know about the robotic army that attacked Central Park late yesterday afternoon - to know about the fire, and about the appearance of the Avengers._

_But not every story from yesterday was one of destruction._

_No one can expect to find love on a battlefield. It's viewed as a weakness; a liability. Something that can be used against you. Captain America knows this: he was a soldier, back in the Second World War. His work as the Star-Spangled Avenger has always been strictly professional._

_Until now._

_Yesterday, our country found out that even through a time of war - even through battles and blood - love _can_ be found. And maybe, it can make you stronger._

_Take Masquerade, for example. Yesterday afternoon, not even ten minutes after the battle was officially over, she was still fighting teeth-and-nail. What for? For Captain America._

_"Of course I remember her. How could I forget?" one bystander, an elderly man by the name of Stan Lee, commented to a reporter. "I was standing right here outside the park, watching an argument between Iron Man and Captain America, when suddenly Masquerade came barreling through the crowd. People were panicking, thinking that something was wrong," Lee remembers, chuckling. "She was screaming for Cap, trying to get his attention. And Masquerade was paying no attention to the people around her - she was just running through the crowd full-speed. Nothing could've stopped her."_

_The rest of the story was caught on camera: Masquerade ran into Captain America's arms, and they shared a kiss that now the whole nation's watched._

_"It's inspiring," Lee said. "To see love blooming on a battlefield. To see that even through all the chaos, there can still be a moment of serenity."_

_Captain America, a young man in his early twenties, was the only success of a Super Soldier project back in World War II. He fought HYDRA, a Nazi deep science division, and defeated the Red Skull. Cap worked with the American army, with the Howling Commandoes, and with the Invaders before being placed in cyrogenic state - but not before he made himself a symbol of hope for the United States. Almost exactly a year ago, he was brought back to life and helped form the new superhero team, the Avengers._

_Not much is known about Masquerade. Experts and analysist say she's young, possibly not even out of her teens yet. Before yesterday, she had only ever made one public appearance: during Loki's attack on New York City. People believed she was a one-time superhero. But because of her role in the battle yesterday, civilians are beginning to doubt this. Masquerade seems to be a full-time Avenger._

_And she's proven that even the mightiest can fall._

_Before the kiss she shared with Cap, they both seemed untouchable. Captain America, especially: he's a living legend. We can look up to him, we can cheer for him, but we can't relate with him._

_It's different now. When he kissed Masquerade, it changed what people thought of him. He's human, now - he can fall in love with a girl, just like the rest of us. He may go out in a mask and save our lives, but behind the scenes, he's got his own. Cap isn't always Cap. Sometimes, he gets to go out on the streets dressed as a normal man, living a normal life. We've lost sight of that._

_Experts believe that their kiss has done wonders for the nation. It's given us a renewed sense of hope: Cap and Masquerade are just like us; they fall in love just as easily. But it also gives our country a means of escape._

_We're tired of grieving. We're tired of mourning. And this kiss is the light we need, to focus on the good and forget about the darkness we've just passed through. Just like the Avengers, it's something for us to cheer for._

_Another symbol of hope._

"Well, that was incredibly cheesy-" I started to say, when Sam suddenly threw herself on Steve's lap, a dry sob escaping her throat. Everyone turned to stare as Steve slowly wrapped his arms around her, his face flushing.

Even I stayed silent as Sam buried her face in his chest, seemingly trying to collect her thoughts and find the words to speak. Finally, she looked up, still clutching Steve's shirt fabric tightly in her fists.

"I want to start by saying I'm sorry," she said softly, looking us each in the eyes. "I won't say I made a mistake by moving to Rome, because I honestly don't think I did. But - I thought I didn't have a choice. I thought that I was being forced to become Masquerade," she sighed. "So I forged a new path for myself by moving to Rome. I don't like following orders, so moving to Rome was my way of rebelling."

She took a deep breath, and Steve tightened his arms around her. "I love it there, I really do. But I fell upon some . . . tough times," she shifted awkwardly. "It made me re-think everything. Like, maybe I _did_ have a choice in being the hero or not. Obviously I did, because I quit," she forced a dark chuckle. "But I . . . Well, I'm Masquerade," she held up her wrist tattoo for everyone to see. "It's like my motto. 'Everyone in life is wearing masks; pretending to be someone they're not. Everyone is always lying.' I was just . . . trying on different masks."

Steve took her wrist in his hand; ran his finger over the word "Masquerade". "And I think I finally realized that there's only one place where I _don't_ have to wear a mask, and that's here, with you guys. It's with Steve," she admitted, wrapping her arms around his neck but continuing to stare down each of the Avengers in turn. "And I'm going to be completely honest: I'm coming back. But not to fight. I mean, I will fight and all, but - but I'm coming back for Steve," she took a deep breath.

"Janet, it's like that Lana Del Rey song you make me listen to," she snapped her head around to stare at the black-haired woman. "'This is what makes us girls, we all look for heaven and we put love first. Something that we'd die for, it's our curse.' I guess I'm putting love first," Sam stared down into her lap. "I mean - I'm so grateful, Tony, for the opportunity you've given me. All the money you've spent. And I'm going to go back and finish my courses," she continued to look down. "But I'm done. I finally know what I want to do with my life, and that's to come back here and fight alongside you guys. I mean, that's so long as you'll take me back - I totally understand if you don't want me here, since I kinda ditched and-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Natasha, of all people, snapped at her. "Of course we want you back. Don't even try and talk yourself into thinking otherwise." Everyone stared at Natasha, surprise in our eyes. Let's face it, we had all thought she was going to reject Sam's apology. "What?" Nat shook her head.

She turned to Sam, who was still staring at the ground and curled up on Steve's lap. "You're still a kid, Sam. You make more mistakes than the rest of us. But we forgive you because we know you were just trying to find yourself. Figure out who you were. And _finally_ it seems like you've gotten the memo," Nat rolled her eyes. "All in favor of letting Sam re-join the Avengers as Masquerade?"

Everyone put up their hand, but all eyes turned to Steve, who hadn't moved. He was staring down at Sam, thinking things through carefully.

"Can't we try and go back to the way we were?" Sam asked him under her breath, staring at the picture of Masquerade and Cap kissing, on the front of the newspaper.

Steve raised his hand.

There was a loud commotion as Clint and Thor both jumped up to hug Sam. She shied away from them at first, but eventually melted into the big group hug, a relieved smile playing across her face. Then Thor began squeezing her a bit too hard, and everyone was ordered to sit back down. Sam stayed in Steve's lap, keeping her hands entwined with his and just enjoying the simple fact that she could touch him again.

I cleared my throat, standing up. "Annnnnnnd now that we've dealt with _that_ couple," I swung my head around to stare at Hank and Janet, "we have to deal with _this_ couple."

There was a long silence.

"Allinfavorofaddingthemtothet eam," I said all in one breath, shooting my hand up. All six of the other Avengers' hands went up instantly, as well - even newly-added Sam's, which was a welcome sight to see.

Janet stood up, squeaking, as a shocked expression passed over Hank's face. "OMG, honey, we've officially Avengers!" she squealed, bouncing up and down. "Oh, thank you thank you thank you this is going to be AWESOME!" she ran around the table, giving everyone a kiss on the cheek.

"Ooh, we're going to be such good friends, we can have Girls' Day all the time now!" she said excitedly to Natasha, who instantly looked like she regretted her vote. "But - but, I think we should include Pepper. Every successful team has someone working behind the scenes! We can be our own little girl-power team of Avengers. The Femmes Fatales!" Jan was practically shrieking.

"Okay, honey, come sit down," Hank stiffly got up to control his wife. "Tony, I - I don't know what to say."

"It's all right, Janet's been saying it for you," I grumbled. "My ears will be ringing for the next three weeks."

"Uh, sorry," Hank flushed. "But wow, guys, really. Thank you. I'm looking forward to getting to work with each and every one of you-"

"Okay, Hank, cut the crap, we actually have important stuff to talk about," I faked a smile.

"Ha!" Steve cried, pointing at me. "You're doing it again!"

"Doing what again?!"

Clint sighed. "It didn't take Steve long to figure out which of your smiles are fake, Tony. We call it his Stark Bullshit Detector."

"Why is the first I'm hearing of this?" I blinked.

"Because we're good at keeping secrets," Clint snickered. "Tasha, you owe me forty dollars - I told you it would take Tony more than three months to catch on."

"He didn't _catch on_, Steve gave it away," Tasha grumbled.

"Okay, okay, back to business," Bruce interrupted, trying to keep the peace.

Sam sighed loudly, a wide grin splitting her face. "God, it's good to be back."

Bruce ignored her. "Okay, so Ultron and the Mandain are MIA. S.H.I.E.L.D's checked out the factories on Terra Street, and although they've confirmed that was indeed where the robots came from, the Mandarin and Ultron are long gone by now. So we're back to square 1."

"But Bucky's back," Steve interrupted. "The Winter Soldier. He - he regained his memories. He's my old friend Bucky from World War II, but he ran off. So he's MIA, too, but no longer a threat, I think," he said softly.

"He could still be a threat, even though you claim he's got his memories back; he could relapse as the Soldier-" Tasha said.

"No! He's fine. Bucky's back," Steve glared at her darkly. "If we find him, we need to bring him in for therapy or something. He just needs help to get better, that's all. I'm not giving up on him."

There was an awkward silence; Bruce cleared his throat. "Fine, we'll search for Bucky under the pretense that he's not a villain anymore," he mumbled. "And do we have any leads on Ultron and the Mandarin? Anyone?" The whole team was silent.

"Just as you thought, Doctor, back to square 1," I sighed. "They've lost the Soldier - but I highly doubt that Ultron's done. We need to find this terrorist; crack down on him. Put him in custody. This war - it's far from over."

"But that is not the only battle we are fighting," Thor spoke up. "Have you forgotten Loki, my brother?"

"Thor, Loki's back in Asgard, serving his punishment or whatever," I waved my hand absentmindedly.

"But he was not working alone. I told you: there was something else, pulling my brother's strings. Someone who has not given up yet. I fear we may face yet another threat from Asgard, if not the rest of the universe."

"Great, so we have to deal with Ultron, _and_ a bunch of aliens?" Clint rolled his eyes.

"We've really got our work cut out for us!" Janet chirped. "Thank gosh you've added us to the team - you'll need all the help you can get!" I stuck my tongue out at her.

"Ew, more aliens," I leaned back in my chair. "And robots. Aliens and robots. Why can't we be fighting butterflies or flowers or something?" Suddenly, I sat up straight, startling everyone at the terrible tone of my voice. "Guys," I said.

"We forgot to get shawarma."

* * *

"Sam, go talk to Thor about cats or something," I said, strutting up to Sam and Steve, at the front of the pack. We were walking to the shawarma place; our big group of nine. But I wanted to talk to Steve alone, so I detached her from the soldier and shoved her off in the general direction of Janet, who I knew would keep her occupied.

Steve looked over at me, that familiar crease forming between his eyebrows as he stared in confusion. I smiled; he held his finger up and shook it in my face.

"Stark Bullshit Detector. That's a fake smile, Tony. What do you want?"

I dropped the false grin off my face and faced forward, walking briskly until I was out of earshot of the other Avengers. "I just wanted to check in with you, Rogers," I said. "I know this is completely uncharacteristic of me, but honestly, you're a friend. Practically a brother. And I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Steve blanched, probably not expecting that.

"We've had enough guy talks over the past year for me to actually care about you," I huffed, a bit peeved. Steve chuckled slightly, and I shot him a look to make him shut up.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he shrugged. "Why?"

"You're a team member. If you go insane, the rest of us will follow suite."

"But why do you think I'd go insane?"

I looked over at Steve, who suddenly appeared so small and helpless beside me (although in all honesty, he was anything but). ". . . Sam."

"Oh," he looked down.

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay with her returning and all."

"Yeah, I think I am," Steve said softly. "It'll be a change - again. And it's kinda tough, just taking her back like it's no big deal." He looked up. "But I'll be okay. I've mi-"

"Well, I can see you've been busy during the past year," someone suddenly said, appearing beside Steve. He had The Daily Bugle out in front of him, and was staring at the front page - Cap's kiss with Masquerade. "Good to know you're still charming the ladies. Wait, _still_? How did that slip in there? I used to be the lady charmer. _You_ were always just invisible."

I looked over at the man walking beside us, squinting as I tried to figure out who it was. Long brown hair hidden under a New York Yankees baseball cap, dark sunglasses, a crappy tourist sweatshirt . . .

"Bucky!" Steve exclaimed, practically shouting; he stopped in his tracks, but Bucky grabbed him by the elbow and forced him to keep walking.

"Nice to know you've found someone," Bucky continued to stare at the newspaper. "Another superhero. Same girl who attacked me, right?"

"That's - that's Masquerade-" Steve couldn't stop staring at his old friend.

"Huh. She your new partner? You go around battling HYDRA agents with her now?"

"Bucky, I - no. What? Wait, you - you're thinking I've replaced you," accused Steve.

I cleared my throat, reminding both men that I was there.

Steve shook his head, trying to clear it. "Okay, um. Bucky. Good to see you're still around," Steve laughed, suddenly giddy. "But - but I think you need to come in. Make sure your memories are back and you know what's real and what isn't. All that stuff. Tony can - he can do it. Get you back to . . . to the way you used to be."

"Thanks," Bucky said, and it actually sounded heartfelt. "But I'm sorry, Cap. I think I need to spend a little bit of time of my own first. I'll come in . . . when I'm ready. I need to come to terms with things first. It's doubtful I'd be entirely welcome, considering the things I've done . . ." he looked at me glaring at him.

"Bucky . . ." Steve trailed off.

"I just thought I should let you know, Steve," he pulled his baseball cap lower on his head. "Before I say goodbye. I won't be seeing you for a while."

Without another word, Bucky melted back into the bustling New York City crowd without a trace.

Steve stared around open mouthed, but he was nowhere to be found. I coughed awkwardly; Sam sidled up between us.

"Who was that?" she asked curiously, looking at the crowd anxiously.

"Bucky," Steve began to smile. "He's okay, Sam. He's alive."

She scratched her head awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about hitting him so hard yesterday . . . Can I meet this guy?"

But Steve just started laughing. "He's alive!" he cried, happy. He picked Sam up, lifting her off her feet and swinging her into the air.

"STEVE! Put me down!" she chided, a scared tone in her voice as Steve kept laughing.

"He's alive, Sam. He's back. And he's got his memories . . . And I've got _you_ back, too . . . I'm just happy . . ." Without putting her down, Steve kissed her on the mouth.

Sam panicked; kicked out and caught him on the knee. I began to laugh as Steve grunted, putting a now-very-angry Sam back down on the ground. "Sorry, sorry," he apologized.

"It's gonna take you two a while to get used to each other again, huh?" I snickered.

Steve spread his hands wide. "I'm _happy_, Tony, for the first time in a while. I have Sam back - _and_ I have Bucky back. After passing through almost a year of suffering . . . I'm happy. Everyone's come back to me. Things are finally starting to work out."

"It's always darkest before the dawn," Sam shrugged.

"Things are gonna be okay, Cap. I told you," I clapped him on the back. I'll admit it: it made me happy to finally see Steve happy. He was too serious: that was his flaw. Steve never smiled; he always carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. He liked to take care of other people's problems. So to see him happy - more importantly, to see him _smiling_ - was a milestone. It really meant the times were changing. Things were going to be okay. Screw the robots and the aliens - we finally had a Cap that wasn't putting himself through hell.

But even through the ups and downs of the year - God knows we've had a lot of them - I don't think I would've changed a thing. Even Sam's disappearance has affected us somehow; changed the course of our destinies. And it makes me wonder: am I on thiis earth to live my own life; to fulfill my own destiny? Or am I here to help someone with theirs? Am I a part of their life, or are they a part of mine? We're all just beings, playing a role in someone else's story. It's only the lucky ones that get their own story.

And this may just be the narcarisstic side of me talking, but I'm pretty sure I've got my own story. I think each of the Avengers have their own. That's what makes us special; makes us different. Why we're the people we are and why our lives are so strange. Because none of us exist simply to further someone else's story. Each of us - from Sam to Steve to Janet to Clint - each of us has our own destiny.

You know. If you even believe in that sort of crap.

* * *

**Author's Note: Yes, there is a sequel. Yes, you can find it in my profile already. Yes, it is called Silver Flames. And yes, the story ID is 8611294. **

**Thanks to everyone so, so much for reading this story. The support has been overwhelming, and I honestly don't know how to thank you guys - I could not have dreamed of better readers. Every single one of you makes this worthwhile; makes it enjoyable. And a special thanks to the spectacular reviewers - you guys keep me going, inspire me, brighten my days . . . I don't know what I would do without you all. Thank you for sticking with me throughout the whole thing :D**

**Last reminder, I don't own anything. And a special thanks to those wonderful last reviewers: _Laurafxox, HikariAmuJackson, roxxirox, Guest, Lady Firewing, cucumbersrockursocks, ClarinetRox88, LunaTheLoneWolf, brandibuckeye, Astrokinetic, erica . phoenix 16, scott6130, Beautifully Tragic Girl, GoForTehGig, ShadowRealmTriforce, Hope's Survival, and CeffylGwyn_! Thanks to everyone for all the compliments, and for all the advice. But most of all, thanks for reading and enjoying!**

**So, here's to the last chapter of Silver Smoke. Can we make it to a final 400 reviews? Please just let me know what you thought of the book - and then follow me over to Silver Flames to continue Sam and Steve's story! I certainly hope to see you all there - there's a lot more SamxSteve romance and fluff, I promise, and a great new villain ;) And, you never know, maybe Loki will make his reappearance! **

**For the last time - READERS ASSEMBLE! And thank you all :D**


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